Oliver Oblivious
by Iamcarterman
Summary: Oliver realizes that something is missing in his life: a girl. On his quest for the perfect girl, he doesn't realize that what he was looking for was right under his nose. KBOW UPDATE EPILOGUE UP. DONE.
1. Chapter 1

**Oliver Oblivious **

_**Oliver realizes that something is missing in his life: a girl. On his quest for the perfect girl, he keeps bumping into Katie Bell, strangely enough. But oblivious Oliver doesn't realize that what he was looking for was right under his nose. **_

_Chapter One:_

_The Proposition _

Oliver was restless.

When the word _restless _comes to mind, most can hear the rhythm of impatient fingers rapping on the table or the scuttling of pacing, anxious feet. Others envision figures tossing and turning in a tangle of sheets with worried thoughts running through their heads. But Oliver was not tapping his fingers on the glossy table, and his feet were planted firmly on the marble floor.

Nonetheless, Oliver was restless. He was restless with his life; his life felt incomplete. Many would snort at this declaration, which was most understandable. Oliver Wood was the same figure that was splashed across the pink, glossy cover of _Witch Weekly _sitting on his kitchen table, bearing the legend of the successful Quidditch captain of the Puddlemere United. He also inherited good looks from his family, his soft, hazel eyes glittering in the faint sunlight pouring through his glass, kitchen windows and his eternally windswept brown locks. Though his nose was distinctly crooked from a nasty Bludger incident, his weathered face was quite handsome in a rugged, worn way. He had good friends as well, often engaging him in high-stakes games of Exploding Snap and occupying the dusty corner of the Leaky Cauldron with bottles of firewhiskey.

Oliver's life was as he had imagined it. He was a professional Quidditch player with good friends and good looks. But as he flipped through the article in _Witch Weekly_, his face grinning up at him, the one thing missing from his life glared up at him obnoxiously.

_Wood, with his dashing looks and charm, is surprisingly single… _

His eyes narrowed at the bold, black words: _single_. A frown tugged at his lips. "Single, single, single," he muttered to himself, staring at the word, smirking tauntingly up at him. He closed the magazine and pushed it across the table. "I'm twenty-three now. Shouldn't I have a girlfriend by now?" He stared at his reflection in the mirror hanging innocently on the kitchen wall, its vintage, gold frame scratched from wear. His brows knitted together above his nose.

"Whatever you say, dear," it drawled lazily. "You have a piece of hair sticking up in the back, did you know? By the way, you look ravishing."

His hand hurriedly ran down the back of his head, smoothing his locks carefully. He stood up, eyeing the remnants of his breakfast and snatching up the _Witch Weekly_ in his hands. He tucked it in the pockets of his blue robes, emblazoned with intertwining, gold bulrushes. As he emerged from the kitchen into the entrance hall, a house elf bounded down the marble staircase, its large ears flapping wildly.

"Master needs Twinky?" she squeaked, bowing deeply, the loose flaps of her toga fluttering. "Master goes to Quidditch practice?"

"Yeah, Twinky," Oliver said beaming down at the house elf kindly. "I'm going to practice. No, I don't need anything. You can rest."

The house elf's eyes bulged. "No, no, no, Master! Twinky will never rests, sir!" she squeaked wildly, shaking her head, her ears threatening to slap her face.

"Okay," Oliver said amused. "I'll be back 'round seven or so…maybe a little later."

* * *

"Good practice," he said landing gracelessly into the mud puddle, splashing the dirtied waters onto the hems of his robes. 

The team grumbled irritably, their blue robes obscured with grime and mud, their hair plastered to their heads. The rain continued to beat relentlessly down upon their heads, spilling from the grey clouds in the sky. They trudged through the thick mud collecting on the grass, gripping their broomsticks tightly as the wind howled nastily. "It would've been good if you hadn't made us practice for three hours straight," someone mumbled angrily.  
Affronted and dripping, Oliver trailed behind them. "You know," he said annoyed, "you're like my old Quidditch team at Hogwarts. Always complaining--we need to get the Puddlemere United into the World Cup."

"I think we're pretty good, Wood. The next match is the Magpies, and we always win against them," a particularly muddy Joscelind Wadcock said reasonably. The team muttered in consent as they headed toward the locker rooms.

"But they got a new _player_!" Oliver roared. "That could change everything! You don't underestimate people!"

"Oh, shut it, Wood," Joscelind said rolling her eyes as she disappeared into the locker room, her muddy footprints staining the clean, marble floors.

"You have to take the Magpies seriously!" Oliver yelled after her his eyes nearly bulging as he stormed into the locker room on the left, plopping himself down on a bench and stripping off his muddy robes. "Wadcock isn't taking it seriously," he announced.

"We heard, Wood," Jonathan Gimpsky said amusedly. He shrugged his broad shoulders at Oliver and balanced his Beater club atop the tangled pile of his muddy robes.

"Yeah, but--" He wiped the mud from his face, revealing his reddening skin. Gimpsky strode over and smacked him on his shoulder. "You'll get over it when we get drinks at the Leaky Cauldron."

In fact, Oliver's worries about the Magpies faded away as he sat among his rowdy, clean Quidditch team, a firewhiskey in his hand. He folded his Quidditch robes carefully on his lap, his hand slipping onto the pocket, feeling something hard. "Oh, yeah!" he said suddenly, cutting through the conversation concerning a hag and a goblin. He placed the _Witch Weekly _on the table. "I got on the front cover," he said.

"Oho!" Joscelind said grabbing the magazine. Jeers and whistles erupted from the group, red tinged in their faces from the mead and firewhiskey on the battered table. "'Oliver Wood, captain of the Puddlemere United, shares all with us. Wood, with his dashing looks and charm, is surprisingly single--"

"That," Oliver said loudly, "is why I'm going to get a girlfriend."

Silence fell across the table, followed with a loud ruckus of laughter. "Just because of this magazine?" Joscelind asked as the laughter subdued and was reduced down to a few chuckles.

"No, because my life is incomplete," Oliver said smartly.

"You sound like a girl, Wood," Gimpsky snorted.

"What are you going to do? Post up ads for a girlfriend?" Joscelind snorted, flicking her muddy brown ponytail over her shoulder.

"No," Oliver said rolling his eyes, "more like…"

"--girl hunting?" Gimpsky finished, a sparkle in his grey eyes. Oliver snapped his fingers and pointed to the smirking man,

"Exactly! Like a quest for the perfect girl…"

Joscelind rolled her eyes. "So basically, you're going to watch girls and go up to one you think is pretty and ask her on a date?" she asked doubtfully. "Shouldn't you let fate do its work? You know, by chance? Isn't this a little desperate?"

"I don't believe in fate," Oliver said rolling his eyes. "That's for girls." A scoff slipped through Joscelind's lips. "Besides, my handsomeness makes up for my desperation."

Sniggers ran through the group.

* * *

"Damn," Oliver muttered to himself, examining the leather glove in his hand. He gave his wand a wild flourish; the mud caked on the glove stubbornly sat there. He sighed deeply, a tinge of irritation passing across his face. He stuffed the glove in his jeans pocket and ate the last of his dripping sundae, walking onto the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. He ignored the jeers and shouts of the street vendors, attempting to press a pendant into his hands. 

"It has unicorn _blood _in it, sir--the blood--" Oliver shuddered at the wizard's yellowing teeth, bared in a grin at him, his face heavily scarred and wrinkles weighing his thin skin down. He quickened his pace as he set his sights on the store across the street, Quality Quidditch Supplies. A small crowd of boys formed around the glass window, their exclamations floating down the street to Oliver's ears.

"Yeah, the Firebolt 2000...look at its sleek handle and cushioned seat. Good acceleration on that," a boy said excitingly as Oliver drew closer, staring indifferently at the shiny broomstick behind the glass. "Best racing broom on the market--most of the Quidditch teams have those brooms…'cept the Chudley Cannons, 'course--they haven't won in ages."

The bell on the door chimed merrily as he pushed the glass door open, stepping into the shop. "Hi, do you need any help?" a voice asked. Oliver pushed his aviators from his nose up to his head, staring up at the witch on the step ladder, struggling with a large box of whistles. Finally, she slid the box onto the shelf and jumped off the ladder recklessly, pushing her black locks off her shoulders. She stared up at Oliver, beaming.

"I'm just going to get some gloves for Keeping," he said trailing off quickly as he noticed the witch's smile slide off her face and a pure incredulous look replaced it.

"O-Oliver Wood?" she nearly shrieked, her sapphire eyes sweeping up and down as she stared at him, her mouth gaping.

He nodded quickly. "Oh…wow!" she said excitedly. "Can I--" She lowered her voice considerably. "…get your autograph?" Her body was shaking with excitement as she hurried off to the counter to grab a spare piece of parchment and a quill, thrusting them eagerly into his hands. He quickly scribbled his name across the parchment and handed it back to her.

"I'm going to get my gloves," he said pointedly. She ignored him, her eyes bulging as she stared down at the parchment clutched tightly in her fingers. He slipped past her into the depths of the store, pausing before a large selection of gloves. As he silently debated on dragon skin or the simplicity of leather, a familiar voice graced its presence.

"Wood?" The soft, sweet voice was laced with incredulity and surprise. He inwardly groaned, bracing a tight-lipped smile on his face, prepared for the quill and parchment. He turned quickly, his brows furrowing in recognition.

"_Bell_?" he said incredulously.

Katie Bell's lips quirked into a small smile, her brown eyes glittering. Her dark brown waves tumbled down her shoulders, curling on the grey shoulders of her cropped, wool blazer. Her hands pulled down the plain, white shirt she wore underneath the jacket, slipping quickly into the pockets of her jeans.

"Hey, Wood," she said cutting through the silence. "Saw you in the _Witch Weekly_." She grinned. "Very dashingly handsome, Quidditch Nazi."

Oliver frowned slightly. She laughed. "Are you playing Quidditch now?" he asked, picking up a pair of dragon skin gloves. "Dragon skin or leather?" he added to Katie. She pointed her finger at the leather gloves hanging limply on the wall.

"Really?" he said picking the black gloves off the hook, placing one on his hand.

"Dragon skin is more expensive, and it clashes with a lot of things," Katie said simply. "And I'm not playing Quidditch; I'm actually here on my lunch break. I write for the _Prophet_."

"You would've made a good Chaser," Oliver said disappointedly, gripping the leather gloves tightly. "Still fly?"

Katie smiled ruefully and shook her head. He stared at her incredulously. "What?" he exclaimed. "But flying is…I couldn't live without flying!"

"I know," Katie said rolling her eyes. "I haven't gotten on a broom since Hogwarts--three years."

He shook his head in disbelief. "But working for the _Prophet _has its perks. I get to go to Quidditch games," Katie said helpfully. "I saw the Puddlemere one against the Wasps."

"Yeah, won by hundred and eighty points," Oliver said a dreamy look crossing his face. He remembered the adrenaline rushing through him as they descended in a tangled group of blue robes.

"So what have you been up to?" Katie asked conversationally as they walked toward the counter.

"Quidditch," he said automatically. "And…" He paused, wondering if Katie would burst into hysterical laughter and tease him. He stared down at her earnest face. "And I decided I would find a girlfriend." His tone was somewhat defensive, as though he was steeling himself for Katie to argue against the notion.

"Good for you," she merely said with a smile.

"Yeah," Oliver said breathing deeply. He handed the gloves to the overly excited witch, still gripping the parchment in her hand.

"Fourteen Galleons," the witch said breathlessly, her eyes glittering. Oliver reached into his jeans pocket, extracting a pouch and dumping the gold on the counter. He counted fourteen Galleons, sliding the large, gold coins across the counter in exchange for the leather gloves. He tucked them carefully into his pocket with the pouch.

"Have you started?" Katie asked as they emerged from the store, slipping through the large crowd gathered around the glass window. "Looking for a girlfriend?"

"No," Oliver said. "I just noticed I was ready for a relationship yesterday." He carefully placed the sunglasses back onto his nose; he noticed Katie slipping on her oversized sunglasses as she squinted at the blazing sun.

"Hm," Katie merely said. "Where are you heading to?"

"Uh…" He realized he had no idea and shrugged. She smiled, the crisp, autumn wind blowing her locks into her face.

"Want a quick drink at the Leaky Cauldron? My lunch break ends in twenty minutes. If we're quick, we can get down a few glasses of firewhiskey," Katie said grinning.

"Okay," he said relenting. He decided he had nothing better to do, and the proposition of a firewhiskey drew him in.

"Maybe you'll find your dream woman at the Leaky Cauldron," Katie said laughter embedded in her voice.

"Do you think it's stupid I'm _looking _for a girlfriend? Is it desperate?" Oliver asked. Katie paused, staring up at him with a shadow of a smile on her face. He couldn't see her eyes behind her sunglasses.

"No," she decided. "A lot of people decide they want to be in a relationship and look for it instead of sitting around, waiting for it to come…which it may never come. If that makes sense," she added.

"It does," he reassured her. "I just felt like something was missing from my life."

"Yeah," Katie said as they walked into the dusty Leaky Cauldron, pulling off her sunglasses. "You got the career and friends down, right?" She waved at Tom, the toothless bartender grinning at them.

"Two firewhiskeys," Katie said as she reached the counter, placing herself on the stool. Oliver followed suit, perching awkwardly on the edge of the hard stool. As Tom passed them two glasses of firewhiskey, he contemplated Katie sitting beside him, sipping on her glass quietly. He would have never thought he would be sitting beside Katie Bell, one of the Chasers on his Gryffindor Quidditch team. He barely paid any attention to her in Hogwarts, save for practices when she glowed with talent.

"Hey, Wood," she said breaking into his thoughts suddenly. He blinked at her confusedly. "I need to go…I have about five minutes to get to the office--it takes about three minutes to walk there."

"Oh, okay," he said quickly, standing up. She gave him another small smile.

"Well," she said breaking the awkward silence lingering between them, "it was nice…you know, talking to you. And seeing you. I hope your quest for a girl goes well." She smirked slightly. "I'm gonna go see your Magpie game, too. So good luck with that." She waved.

"Bye," he said bemusedly. She disappeared through the door, her waves bouncing behind her.

_**A/N: Shall I continue? Horrible idea? Stupid? Really, tell me the cold, hard truth of the matter and I shan't bother you with this horrendous story again. If not, you could do me a favor and review. I'm quite the greedy review whore. **_

_**In the duration of this story, I might go deeply into the details of what Katie's wearing because I love fashion. And I recently saw The Devil Wears Prada, too. And imagine Katie, if you will, as Rachel Bilson. Snort. I'm such a nerd. End A/N.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Oliver Oblivious **

_**Oliver reevaluates his life to find that something's missing. On his quest for the perfect girl, he keeps bumping into Katie Bell. If only oblivious Oliver Wood would know that what he was searching for was right under his nose. **_

_Chapter Two:_

_The List _

Oliver swirled his coffee with a spoon, staring down intently at the smooth piece of parchment laying on the glossy, kitchen table. Releasing his fingers from the spoon, leaving the imprint of his fingers on the silver handle, he picked up his battered quill off the parchment, dipping it into the inkbottle sitting dangerously near the edge of the table. The quill scratched on the parchment, the faint chirps of birds barely drowning out the scratching sound. The pheasant feather flitted wildly as he scribbled down a long list in his messy scrawl. He finally placed his quill in the pot of ink, staring down at the list he had concocted, his eyes darting around the kitchen as though expecting a large group of people hovering over his shoulder reading the parchment. The smooth, yellowing parchment flaunted the following:

_Qualities of the Perfect Girlfriend_

_1. She must like Quidditch. _

_2. She must support the Puddlemere United. _

_3. She must like me as a person, not as a professional Quidditch player._

_4. She must have good flying skills._

_5. She must have be decently attractive (no hags, thanks). _

_6. She must be remotely intelligent. _

_7. She must appreciate a good firewhiskey. _

_8. She must not be clingy or whiny._

_9. She must not be bipolar. _

_10. She must be the woman I could spend the rest of my life with. _

Oliver admitted the list was not the best guideline for the perfect woman, but considering the five minutes he spent pondering over it, he decided it was good enough. Folding the parchment carefully, he slipped it into his trouser pocket. He had planned a grueling practice for today, but he decided to let his team rest (truthfully, it was an excuse for him to put the list in action).

Gulping down his cold coffee, he got to his feet and decided to try his luck in Diagon Alley once again. Placing his aviators on his nose, he strode through the front door and Apparated. The unpleasant pressure on his body quickly faded as a loud chattering greeted his ears. He stared around at the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, glancing up at the towering, marble building known as Gringotts. Goblins flanked the doors outside, bowing to the wizard walking through, his emerald cloak bellowing in the wind.

The crowd began pushing Oliver forward; he quickly followed the flow of the witches and wizards walking past, carrying large bags overflowing with their purchases. He glanced up at the flamboyant store looming ahead, bearing the legend of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He smiled slightly; he had visited the store twice, the Weasley twins greeting him and taunting him as the Quidditch Nazi. He glanced quickly at the new café, Dragon's Breath, a small, shoddy building saddled beside the large joke shop, its rough stone wall stained with something like looked eerily like blood. A wooden sign hung on the wall, portraying a large dragon blowing smoke rings that snaked into the words _Dragon's Breath_. He noticed the large crowd bustling in and out of its doors and decided to head over to the café. He quickly darted through a loud, chattering group of witches and headed toward the peeling door, placing his hand around the rusty doorknob.

"Yes, that's the new Dragon's Breath café. Rubella tried a cake there and said it was delicious," a wild-looking witch said loudly to her friend as they passed Oliver. "You know, it looks awfully like the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, doesn't it? That Aberforth is awfully grumpy--"

He coughed as the door creaked open. An overwhelming scent of flowers suffocated him as he stepped into the café. The pink wallpaper plastered on the walls was peeling significantly, and a layer of thick dust covered the floorboards. Beaten, wooden tables were scattered about in the room, a large array of hiccupping daffodils blooming from the glass vases placed the tables. Several witches and wizards occupied the tables, sipping large mugs of tea and chatting animatedly to another. A glass counter in the distance displayed an array of mouthwatering cakes and cookies, compensating for the overwhelming reek of flowers and dirty walls.

Oliver's eyes swept over the room, searching for an empty table. Unfortunately, a witch or wizard occupied every table in the café. But his eyes fell on a table in the far corner. A young witch sat alone, sipping her tea and finishing the crumbs of her cake. Her sapphire eyes glittered in the sunlight falling through the small window on the wall near her table, and her golden curls glowed. As he took off his sunglasses, she caught his eye and smiled widely.

He returned the smile and placed his hand in his pocket, feeling the folded list in its depths. He walked purposely toward the woman, his smile widening with each step. As he drew closer, he noticed the discreet freckles scattered on her cheeks and the aristocratic structure of her face, her cheekbones fairly prominent.

"Hello," he said finally reaching her table.

"Hi," she said in a faint voice. He gratefully noted it wasn't too shrill or gruff.

"Can I sit with you?" he asked pointing at the chair across from her. She nodded quietly. He sat down, settling himself on the creaking chair, placing his elbows on the table. He did not notice her wince as he plopped them on the scuffed surface of the table.

"I'm Oliver Wood," he said hesitantly, waiting for her reaction. To his surprise, she merely flashed him a smile.

"I'm Claudia Hollingberry," she offered.

"You looked lonely," Oliver said lamely, breaking the awkward silence settling upon them.

"Oh," Claudia said with a polite smile. "I was just enjoying some of the cake here. It's delicious. You should try it."

"Yeah, I should," he agreed.

"I was also waiting for my friend to come and meet me, but she's running a little late. We were going to go shopping. I needed a new quill," Claudia continued. Oliver nodded, feigning interest. "You see, I've been using the same quill since Hogwarts…and my friend decided I needed to buy a new one."

"Oh, what kind of quill is it?" he asked.

She smiled. "It's a peacock quill. I love it a lot because my grandfather gave it to me and he was killed…by the Death Eaters back in the first war," she said her features darkening considerably.

"Wow, that's awful," he said shaking his head.

"Yeah," Claudia said slowly. "I really missed him…You-Know-Who was an awful man. I'm glad Harry Potter got rid of him. After my grandfather died, I wanted to be an Auror…to track down the Death Eaters that killed him."

"I heard it's hard to pass Auror training," Oliver said relieved that the topic had steered away from quills.

"Yes, I nearly failed," she laughed. He noted her laughter tinkled, delicate and soft. It was also considerably quiet like her own voice. "Stealth is not one of my best features. I tripped during the test. It was horrible." She laughed again.

He laughed, too. "I couldn't imagine you tripping," he said honestly, looking at her petite frame.

"Well…I'm quite clumsy," she said nodding her head seriously. Silence fell between them. This time, she broke it.

"What is it that you do?" she asked cheerily. He noted she was more comfortable with him than before.  
Incredulously, he stared at her. "What?"

"Your job?" she offered carefully.

"I know what you meant…it's just a surprise--that you didn't know who I was," Oliver said running a hand through his hair distractedly. He decided it was a good thing that she did not scream his name and demand an autograph, but it definitely took him off-guard.

"Well," he said quickly, noticing her questioning gaze, "I'm a professional Quidditch player for the Puddlemere United. I'm the captain and the Keeper."

"That's nice," Claudia replied with a smile. "I never cared for that game…Quidditch. My brother likes it a lot. He might've liked your team…I'm not quite sure. You're the one with the blue robes, right?"

Oliver stared at her. "You…y-you don't like Quidditch?" he said his voice dangerously low.

Claudia shrugged. "Kind of…mediocre, I suppose. Flying on brooms and tossing balls back and forth…it's just pointless."

"It's not just that!" Oliver cried, his voice raising. "It's the exhilaration as you fly on the broomstick--the adrenaline you get. The excitement from watching the Quaffle go back and forth--who's going to get it and are they going to score? It's an amazing game, Quidditch! It is _not _mediocre!"

Before he knew it, he was standing on his feet, breathing heavily. The inhabitants of the café stared at him, gaping. Claudia's blue eyes widened in shock and surprise. Inhaling deeply, he stared down at Claudia.

"I liked you up until now," he said shaking his head.

Claudia remained speechless as he turned around and proceeded to walk out the door. "Well, you need to learn some manners, and get your elbows off the table!" she yelled furiously after him.

Breathing heavily, he shook his head in disappointment. She would have been wonderful if she hadn't hated Quidditch and called the sport mediocre. "Mediocre?" he muttered furiously to himself, striding down the path, his face flushed with anger. "_Quills _are mediocre!" Ignoring the odd looks he earned from his steadily rising voice, he stormed down the path, barely noticing where he was heading.

"Quidditch is not a game where you just toss balls back and forth--"

"Oliver?"

He looked up at a smirking Katie Bell. Her dark waves were pulled into a tousled ponytail, and bright fuchsia robes engulfed her petite body, a _Daily Prophet _badge pinned on her chest. Her dark eyes twinkled with amusement as they swept over his disheveled state and his flushed face.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver asked rudely.

Katie made no reaction to his brusque tone; she merely grinned and pointed to her chest. "I work for the _Daily Prophet_," she said obviously, pointing at the large, towering building behind her. "What are _you _doing here? You look mad."

Mad was an understatement; he was livid. Breathing heavily, he managed to explain the fiasco at the Dragon's Breath. "How can she _not _like Quidditch?" he burst out finally, anger vibrating in his voice.

Katie's face struggled considerably. He was debating whether she was struggling from anger or tears. Finally, she burst out into gales of laughter. Oliver was slightly alarmed.

"What? Why are you _laughing_?" he cried. "This is serious!"

"Wood…" She choked on a giggle. "Wood," she managed through a laugh, "um…not everyone--" She burst out into peals of giggles before breathing deeply, her eyes shining and her face flushed. Oliver stared at her with wide eyes. "Not everyone," she repeated, regaining her composure, "likes Quidditch."

A wounded look crossed Oliver's face; he looked as though her words had smacked him across the face, hard.

"W-what are you _talking _about?" he sputtered. "It's the best sport in the world! It's exhilarating and--" Katie held up a hand and promptly placed it on Oliver's shoulder, staring seriously into his face.

"Oliver," she said soothingly. He noted her usage of his first name. "I _know_. People are crazy for hating Quidditch, but you've got to know that not everybody likes the sport," she continued with an air of explaining two plus two equals four. "And you have no right to blow up in their face about it…especially if you just met the person…in public…"

"And you know, this is going to be all over the news, right?" Katie added. "Considering you're a famous, professional Quidditch player."

Replacing his incredulous look, horror crossed his face. "Oh, shit," he muttered.

She patted his shoulder kindly. "Look, I should be getting back. I was supposed to run over to Scribbulus Everchanging Inks to get fetch some ink and parchment. We ran out," Katie said quickly. "It's the stationary store down the street," she added as she read the slightly confused look on Oliver's face. "So I have to run…but…" She paused in her quick ramble. "Don't worry, Wood. You'll find a girl who likes Quidditch. If it makes you feel better, I _love _Quidditch." She gave him a grin and hurried down the street, her fuchsia robes trailing behind her.

Oliver stuck his hand in his pocket and extracted the folded parchment, listening to its crinkling as he unfolded it and smoothed it carefully. "Must like Quidditch," he read. He shook his head disappointed. "That girl is nutters…absolutely raving. Quidditch is not _mediocre_!"

**A/N: Eh, I hope this chapter is good…I was kind of doubtful of this chapter. Oh well, tell me if it's horrible. Oliver is so crazy and desperate; he always seemed crazy in the books anyway. And as many of you said, he is a complete dork for looking for a girlfriend. Snort. He made himself out as a crazy lunatic in this chapter…**

**Thanks for the reviews! You know, I'm gonna be expecting at least thirteen reviews…as I said before, I'm a complete, utterly greedy review whore. Haha.**

**Special thanks and lots of love to **Ghostwriter626, imakeeper, ice-cold-pepsi, Hey There Delilah, starry-eyes184, MiSs WeStHoFf HeRsElF, lilangelxox, Meshugenah, Sally, Ashley, Tamara, Hayakawa, and Lady Arre (please don't throw a temper tantrum!).


	3. Chapter 3

**Oliver Oblivious **

_**Oliver reevaluates his life to find that something's missing. On his quest for the perfect girl, he keeps bumping into Katie Bell. If only oblivious Oliver Wood would know that what he was searching for was right under his nose. **_

_Chapter Three:_

_Meet Sarah Wood _

He darted to the right hoop, his fingers gripping tightly around the Quaffle. A groan escaped Joscelind Wadcock; his hands managed to catch the Quaffle every time she threw the red ball toward the hoops. He easily thrust the scarlet ball toward the discouraged witch, her dark eyes narrowed in frustration. "We're going to keep playing until all of you," he said loudly, addressing the three, hovering Chasers, wearing the same dark expressions on their faces, "score at least six goals past me." A collective groan echoed through the Quidditch pitch.

"Seriously, Wood," Jonathan said lowering his club and zooming forward toward him. "The Magpies are going to be easy to beat…besides, we have the best Chasers…Wadcock, Bloor, and Griffiths. Besides, how can they get a goal past you? You're possibly the greatest Keeper of the century." Unbeknownst to Gimpsky, Oliver caught the discreet (and yet, not so) wink he gave to the rest of the team, who immediately murmured in agreement.

He grinned at Gimpsky, who looked particularly proud of himself. "Unfortunately," he said dropping the grin, "flattery doesn't work on me, Gimpsky." Jonathan scowled nastily at Oliver; he failed to mention that a Bludger was whistling toward Oliver's head. Fortunately, he ducked out of the way, glaring nastily at Gimpsky. "For that, we're practicing for an extra hour after you get those six goals."

Everyone groaned. Joscelind smacked Gimpsky on the arm before darting away with the Quaffle tucked safely underneath her arm.

When the tired, weary team descended, streaks of orange and purple painted the skies as the sun descended behind the hills. "You're evil, Wood," Gimpsky said irritably as he tossed his sweat-drenched robes onto the bench.

"Well, considering you almost let a Bludger hit my head," Oliver said smoothly, folding his dirty robes carefully and tugging on a gray sweater onto his bare torso.

"How's the search coming along?" Jonathan asked smirking slightly.

"Horrible. I found a pretty, smart girl at the Dragon's Breath--turned out she thought Quidditch was mediocre!" he said. "Isn't she mad?"

"I think _you're _mad," Gimpsky pointed out. "She was pretty and smart--you should've given her a chance. My mum doesn't like Quidditch, too."

"Raving," Oliver said ignoring Jonathan, deciding to leave the details of his angry outburst out of the conversation. He tugged on a pair of rugged jeans, a nasty rip on the knee from the time he tripped on a mud puddle on the Quidditch pitch. "I made a list," he added unnecessarily.

Jonathan smirked, his eyes twinkling. "Really? What kind of list?"

Oliver dug a hand into his pocket, retrieving the parchment he had taken to carrying everywhere with him. He handed it to Jonathan who unfolded it recklessly and began reading it, his smirk widening as his eyes fell on every word.

"You're _so _desperate, Wood," Gimpsky laughed handing back the parchment.

"Shut up," Oliver snapped.

"So…this girl didn't get past number one on the last, did she?" Jonathan snorted, placing the parchment into Oliver's hands and throwing on a white shirt easily. "You know, if I help you find this perfect girlfriend of yours, will you cancel Quidditch practice tomorrow?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "Maybe," he said grudgingly, staring down at Jonathan's outstretched hand.

"I promise I'll have you on a hot date by tomorrow night," Gimpsky said with a wide grin. "If not, you and I can have an extra Quidditch practice at dawn. Promise." Oliver slipped his hand into Jonathan's, shaking it briskly before tucking the list back into his jean pocket. Gimpsky smirked.

* * *

"Look, mate, I found someone perfect for you!" Jonathan's voice floated into the kitchen.

"Did Twinky let you in?" Oliver groaned burying his head in his hands. "I'm telling her not to invite you into my house anymore."

A grinning Jonathan Gimpsky strolled into the kitchen, his hands stuck into his jean pockets. "She's perfect for you. Obsessed with Quidditch and loves the Puddlemere United so she'll be excited about seeing you," he said smirking. "Pretty decent…I mean, her nose is a little off-center, but it's going to be _fine_."

Oliver's lip curled slightly. He was never the one who agreed to friends setting him up with a girlfriend. "I am desperate," he said frowning deeply. "I can't believe I let you set me up with a girl."

"I thought your life was incomplete," Gimpsky mocked. "Besides, I told her you'd meet her at the Three Broomsticks at nine."

"She better not be a raving lunatic," Oliver grumbled. "It's eight…forty-five now." His eyes fell on the grandfather clock in the corner, basking in the glow of light radiating from the crackling fire in the hearth.

"Better get going before she thinks you showed her up," Jonathan chimed. "Maybe if you're lucky…she'll come back here." He winked.

"Shut up or I _will _schedule that break-of-dawn Quidditch practice," Oliver threatened. The smirk would not fade away from Gimpsky's face. He glanced at the mirror on the wall, examining his brown hair.

"You look radiant, dear," it drawled lazily, earning a snort from Jonathan. "Absolutely dashing."

"Radiant," Jonathan mimicked. "Cute as a button." He pressed his finger on Oliver's nose. "Adorable."

"Stuff it, you git," Oliver snapped. "And don't touch me. Merlin knows how much germs are on your finger…I wouldn't be surprised if you have fleas."

"I love you, too." He extracted his wand from his pocket and flicked it, a bouquet of flowers falling onto the table. "First cardinal rule of dating…bring her flowers. Good luck, my dearest. I'll let myself out." Oliver glared at his back as he disappeared through the entrance room. "Goodbye, Twinky!" he said loudly as he slammed the front door behind him.

Oliver rolled his eyes and got to his feet. He walked toward the doorway, but doubled back and grabbed the flowers grudgingly. After he bade Twinky goodnight, he walked outside of his house, breathing in the calm, still autumn air, the moon glowing in the dark skies. He closed his eyes, his body compressing tightly. He was unable to breathe until--

He opened his eyes and grinned at the familiar Hogsmeade. He glanced up at the glowing Three Broomsticks, walking through the doors into the familiar, comfortable atmosphere of the bar. He spotted Madam Rosmerta clicking away on her turquoise heels, sliding a tankard of butterbeer toward a group of rowdy wizards. She laughed at the joke one wizard was telling, something about a hag and a unicorn. Oliver glanced about the bar, glancing at the booths carefully. A squeal alerted him, and he jumped quickly as a pair of arms wrapped around him.

"I can't believe this!" the shrill voice shrieked loudly into his ear. "_Oliver Wood_! I can't believe it…wow!" He gasped as the arms tightened around his body. He struggled in her grasp and pushed away her arms, but they continued to snake around him. He sputtered and choked, managing the words--"Getroffme!"

"Oh!" the arms loosened and the figure stepped back. He panted heavily, catching his breath as he stared at the woman, clasping her hands together in excitement. Her caramel locks cascaded down her face in curls, her face round and rosy. Her blue eyes stared at him admiringly, and her large lips were curved into a huge smile, revealing her straight, white teeth. His eyes fell on her nose; Gimpsky was right about her discreetly, skewed nose.

"I'm Sarah Jenkins!" she said excitedly. "I love Quidditch and the Puddlemere United. They're my favorite team!" Oliver nodded as she continued gabbling on about the several Puddlemere United posters she plastered on her bedroom wall. His head throbbed from her excessively shrill voice as they headed toward the bar. He glanced down the crushed bouquet of flowers in his hand. He handed them to the chattering Sarah who accepted them with a squeal and plowed on with her story.

He smiled at Madam Rosemerta who gave him a mingled look of pity and amusement. "A firewhiskey…and what are you having, Sarah?" Oliver asked politely.

"Oh…um…I don't like to drink," Sarah said pausing slightly. "I'll have whatever you're having though…anyway, like I said, my brother would be so jealous if he knew that I was with you…you know, captain of the Puddlemere United! He's supported the team since he was born, practically. You know, I can't wait until that Magpie match that's coming up. Have you been practicing a lot?"

"Yeah," Oliver said relieved she had stopped talking for a moment. He took the glasses of firewhiskey that Madam Rosmerta passed across the counter toward him gratefully and handed one to Sarah. "Cheers." He swallowed down a large gulp.

Sarah sniffed the firewhiskey and took a small sip gingerly. Her face blanched. "I don't like it," she said shaking her head. "Too strong."

"Oh, that's fine," Oliver said. "Gillywater, then? Not too strong."

"No, that's okay, _Oliver_," she said bristling with excitement as she said his name. "I can't wait till my brother sees you! He'll die…I mean, me dating the captain of the Puddlemere United? I mean, my brother will just die…and to think, you'll be his brother-in-law in a few years…"

Oliver choked on his firewhiskey. She happily patted him on the back. "Wow, Sarah Wood. It's much more exciting than Jenkins," she said scowling slightly. "My name is so ordinary, don't you think?"

"Sarah W-Wood?" Oliver managed his eyes watering as he hacked wildly.

"I play Quidditch all the time with my brother. I always play Keeper, too," Sarah gabbled on. "Like you," she added happily. "I'm dating a _professional _Quidditch player! You got on the cover of _Witch Weekly_, too."

"Yeah, I know," Oliver said unnerved.

"That is so cool. You're…famous," she said relishing the words. "I'm dating a famous person!" She burst out into peals of shrill, high-pitched giggles. Shivers ran down Oliver's back at the sound.

"And I saw Jonathan Gimpsky! That was exciting. I mean, I was just eating ice-cream at Florean Fortescue…when he just came up to me. Wow, that was exciting. I almost fainted…"

"…and he's pretty cute, too. Are you two friends? That is so cool…"

"Hey, Sarah, you know what?" Oliver said loudly, cutting over her. She stared up at him with admiration. "I'm getting tired. I usually go to bed at…" He glanced at the clock in the far corner, squinting slightly to read it. "…at nine…and it's ten now so I'm exhausted, you know."

"Oh! Okay. Well, I figured you stayed up late…but I suppose it's 'cause of all the Quidditch practices and stuff, right?" Sarah said giggling. "So when can I see you again?"

"I'll…erm…owl you," Oliver coughed.

"Oh, okay!" Sarah said chirpily. Oliver quickly jumped to his feet and nearly ran for the door. In his haste to leave, he bumped into the figure walking toward the Three Broomsticks.

"Oh!" he said hurriedly moving out of the way. "Sorry…"

"Hey, Wood."

"Why do I keep bumping into you?" Oliver asked, astonished as he blinked at a grinning Katie Bell.

She shrugged. He glanced down at her, her dark locks pulled into a messy bun perched atop her head. She wore a black, empire-waist dress, gentle pleats forming underneath her bust. A black herringbone trench coat topped her dress, and the heels of her black boots crunched into the pebbles on the ground.

"What's the hurry?" she asked.

"I was…on a date with a girl," he said hesitantly. "She was crazy…and I think she might chase after me if I stay outside any longer…"

Katie quickly comprehended and snatched his arm, dragging him down the path. "I usually come to the Three Broomsticks to catch up with Madam Rosmerta every Saturday night," she explained. "But we can go to the Hog's Head for some drinks…if you want, anyway," she added, glancing up at Oliver. He shrugged.

"So, how was the hot date?" she asked with a smirk.

"Horrible," Oliver said shaking his head. "She kept talking on and on about how her brother would be so excited to see that she was dating a Quidditch star and how I was a Quidditch star. And her voice was awful. She only seemed to be interested in the fact that I was a professional Quidditch player…and she wouldn't stop talking…and oh yeah, she said that her name would be nice as Sarah _Wood_."

Katie burst out into her laughter. "Sounds horrible," she agreed. "At least she liked Quidditch this time. You really don't have a knack for women, do you?" The door creaked open as she twisted the knob open, the dusty atmosphere of the Hog's Head engulfing them. Oliver had only been the bar twice; he had brought his own glass and breathed through his mouth because of the overwhelming odor of goats. He wrinkled his nose; the odor had not seemed to have faded in the last few years.

The bartender stared up at them as the door closed, a flurry of dust washing over them. He gave them a grumpy look through his glasses, his silver hair falling down his shoulders, intertwining with his long, swaying beard. A dirty rag was gripped tightly in his bony, wrinkled hand, wiping a particularly dirty glass with the rag. Oliver winced slightly.

Katie noticed this and smiled. "Yeah, we had dusty butterbeers here once," she said with another laugh. She walked over to the counter and smiled brightly at the bartender, undaunted. "Can we have two firewhiskeys please? But wait--" The wizard glared at her as she waved her wand, two clean glasses appearing on the counter. He disappeared underneath the counter, fumbling with something loudly.

"Is that all you like to drink, firewhiskeys?" Oliver asked curiously. Katie shrugged.

"It gives you a nice kick," she said simply. "Like fire," she added with a chuckle.

"Besides, I could tell you needed something more than a butterbeer," she said smirking, "after that date…"

"Yeah," Oliver said as the grumpy bartender pushed the glasses of firewhiskey toward them. "Luckily, I had some at the Three Broomsticks, too…you know, to drown out her voice." He gulped down the drink, the familiar burning lingering in the back of his throat as he swallowed it.

"So besides Quidditch, what have you been up to?" Katie asked.

"Hm. Drinking at the Leaky Cauldron…this desperate quest for a girlfriend," he answered lazily. "Exploding Snap--lost ten Galleons last time. How about you?"

"Writing articles. Dull ones, mind you," Katie said rolling her eyes. "Cheese cauldron bottoms. I expect that the _Witch Weekly _will publish something about your recent escapades with girls. Especially that last one…you know, with the mediocre Quidditch-hater? I told you that already, didn't I?"

He frowned. "Yeah, I didn't think about things like that…"

"Well, that's the price you pay for being famous, Wood," Katie said obviously. "Oh well, it'll die down. You're a good Keeper…they won't heckle you for that long anyway. Not when their happiness depends on this upcoming Magpies match. Training your team to an oblivion like you did to us?"

"I do not train them into an oblivion!" Oliver said defensively. "And I didn't train you into one either!"

"Whatever Quidditch _Nazi_," Katie rolled her eyes. "You nearly killed us with those break-of-dawn practices. At some points, I really wanted to hex you." She caught his gaping mouth. "But I didn't 'cause you didn't win the Quidditch Cup after all those years and I knew you wanted it really badly. I guess it was worth it when we won…"

"Of course it was!" Oliver cried. "We _won_!"

"Ron wasn't as good as you," Katie contemplated. "Though, he did get better at the end of the year, but still…you were a good Keeper. Harry wasn't as much of a madman as you, though. That was good. Close your mouth, Wood. Don't act so surprised. You really are a piece of work."

"I don't think I can take any more insults," Oliver said grumpily.

"You brought it upon yourself," Katie said impatiently. "You're hard-working, determined, stubborn, crazy…all the qualities of an overachiever."

It was funny that he was sitting in the Hog's Head with Katie Bell, the girl he didn't look twice at in Hogwarts, listening to her list his flaws (apparently, he had many) over a glass of firewhiskey. Katie Bell, the Gryffindor Chaser, who he rarely had a true conversation with unless you counted, "C'mon, Bell! Score a damn goal, for Merlin's sake!"

He gave a small chuckle. She stopped talking and stared at him with her wide, dark eyes. "What? Why are you laughing?"

"You," he said truthfully. She scowled.

**A/N: I absolutely love all of you and all the support you've been giving to this little story. It's going to be pretty short about seven or eight chapters. Like many of you said, Oliver is a complete lunatic and is not going to get any less desperate in the next few chapters, I'm sorry to say. **

**You guys are awesome! I love you. **

**Lots of thanks to: shadowkid1313, MoonshineFairy (**ugh, I hate when my laptop dies on me! Glad you sorted it out), **Celi**, **Lia06 **(aw, poor guy. Probably scared by the wrath of your ranting…just kidding), **Ashley **(yes, Ollie is a nerd), **imakeeper**, **TheBrassPotato **(yes, after a few more chapters, the light bulb will go off), **Meshugenah **(unfortunately, Katie is still writing boring articles like cauldron bottoms so no, she will not be writing about Ollie's outburst), **Miss Anthrope **(yes, Oliver is blind…but he'll get it soon. Hehe), **sweetblonde14 **(Yes, I continued on with this story. See? Look at this chapter! Hehe), **starry-eyes184 **(hopefully, Oliver and Katie interacted more in this chapter), **lilu05**, **Ghostwriter626**, **Lady Arre **(Glad I'm off the hook! Hehe), and **TooSweet4Words** (ELITE! That sounds exciting).

**Thanks again**.


	4. Chapter 4

**Oliver Oblivious **

_**Oliver reevaluates his life to find that something's missing. On his quest for the perfect girl, he keeps bumping into Katie Bell. If only oblivious Oliver Wood would know that what he was searching for was right under his nose. **_

_Chapter Four:_

_Tingles and Tea_

He narrowed his eyes down at the battered, wrinkled page, inhaling the faint, musty odor wafting from its yellowing surface. His head was throbbing painfully, his fingers rubbing his temple gingerly. He struggled to concentrate on the bold words printed across the page fruitlessly, sighing deeply as he shut the green book closed with a snap. The binding on the spine of the book was worn considerably, a few pages dangling out of its green cover, threatening to fall out. He pushed the pages back into the book, staring fondly at it.

Oliver Wood's favorite book was easily _Quidditch Throughout the Ages_. Instilled with the fanatic love of Quidditch, the book was ideally perfect for him, providing him with the details and history of the sport he had grown to love and made a part of his life. When his mind was muddled with worries and qualms, he soothed his head by retreating into the quiet, serene ambiance of his sitting room, reading his beloved book to clear his mind of his thoughts. Today, however, he found his mind was stubbornly lingering on the diagram of Quidditch tactics and ploys, draped over the glossy, kitchen table. He sighed, placing the book on the end table carefully. A small, fond smile played on his lips as he recalled the first time he read the book.

He arrived at Hogwarts, a scared but excited first year, impatient at the prospect of playing for the House team the next year. Unfortunately, the winding twists and turns of the corridors confused him, and he found himself desperate and lost on his way to his Transfiguration class. He asked a rather large, leering Slytherin for directions; this choice was unwise on a whole because Oliver found himself wandering outside of the library. He walked into the library, breathing in the dusty air, planning on asking the librarian for directions to the Transfiguration classroom. But Madam Pince, in her sinister glory, intimidated him greatly when she suspiciously glowered down at him, her wrinkles drooping on her thin face. Instead of asking for directions, he found himself asking for a Quidditch book. With a nasty glare, Madam Pince bent down underneath her desk, emerging with a rather battered, green book clutched in her long, wrinkled fingers. She leaned across the desk to hand him the book; he took it with his shaking heads, but found it rather difficult as her fingers gripped tightly on the book. She bent her head over, resembling a vulture as she peered at him coldly over her spectacles. Her shrill, rasping voice sent shivers down his spine as she uttered out a dire, furious warning.

"This book has been pawed about and dribbled on by nearly every student in this school. If you should rip, tear, shred, bend, fold, deface, disfigure, smear, smudge, throw, drop, or in any way mistreat this book, the consequences will be as awful as I can make them. And make sure you do not drop in the bath! Marcus Flint's ears will never be quite the same again. I wouldn't want it to happen your _lovely _ears."

Since that time, he took his time staring at Marcus Flint's ears and peering in the mirror at his own ears, struggling to discern a lovely ear from a not-so-lovely ear. He inquired Gimpsky about the matter once; he replied with a rather cheeky response, informing him that all ears looked the same to him--wrinkled apricots. He broke away from his thoughts when he caught a large, flapping ear bounding toward him.

"Master, Twinky gets the owl for you! Twinky gets the _Witch Weekly _for you," she squeaked loudly, tugging at his sweater sleeve.

He glanced down at her large, brown eyes, peering up at him reverently, her spindly, long fingers clutching around the glossy, pink magazine, thrusting it up above her head. He gripped his fingers around the magazine, lifting her burden carefully. He smiled widely at the house elf. She sunk down into a low bow, her crooked nose grazing the cold marble, the thin flaps of her toga fluttering.

"Thank you, Twinky," he said kindly. "You can go relax now." The house elf widened her eyes in shock and shook her head wildly, her ears beating her about the face wildly.

"Twinky is not supposed to relax, Master!" she said in scandalized tones, her eyes widening to the size of plates. "No, no, no, Master! Master is too good to Twinky. Master is brave, loyal, and good…" She peered up at Oliver's bemused face with pure admiration. He chuckled slightly at the house elf; he never quite understood the creatures. He shrugged.

"Alright, Twinky," he said grinning slightly. He watched the hem of her tea cozy disappear around the corner as she bounded away from the sitting room to clean the already immaculate house. Though, he told her explicitly that she was not to touch his diagrams and the model of the Quidditch pitch that was piled on the kitchen table in disarray. He made sure she closed the curtains to keep prying eyes of the Magpie spies away from their strategies; Oliver was always paranoid when it concerned Quidditch.

He glanced at the window, faint sunlight pouring through the glass. The sun was beginning to settle over the world from a few hours of slumber. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, its arms reading a quarter until eight. He had been awake since the break of dawn, prodding at the diagram and tweaking it. He had scheduled practice at eight; he flipped hurriedly through the _Witch Weekly_.

It was not that Oliver Wood liked to read _Witch Weekly_; he would wither away with embarrassments should anyone other than his devoted house elf discovered him, flicking through the glossy pages, the crème de la crème of pink. Oliver read the magazine to catch up the whirlwind of gossip concerning himself and the Puddlemere United. Twinky also liked to clip recipes from the back. He flipped wildly through the pages, his eyes careening back and forth wildly until--he slammed his hand a page abruptly. With a grim satisfaction, he caught familiar picture of himself, depicting his storming out of the Dragon's Breath. He winced slightly and glanced over the article, graced with pictures of his latest, desperate escapades. He was not surprised because Katie Bell had warned him of the upcoming articles. However, there was one snag she failed to mention: herself.

Oliver liked the gloss over the details of scandalous articles concerning himself; however, he acknowledged the fact that now the wizarding world would know him as the scum who cheated on his girlfriend of two months, Katie Bell, with several other women. The _Witch Weekly _liked to spice their articles up and suggested that Oliver had an abusive nature as he had shown it in the Dragon's Breath during his outburst. He moaned slightly at the article, his fingers flitting to his temples again, rubbing them carefully as his head began to throb again.

* * *

"Wood, honestly, no one cares," Jonathan Gimpsky's voice rang out, interrupting him as he poised his wand over the arrow zooming across the large diagram. The team grumbled in agreement, their heavy eyelids drooping and their shuddering yawns plaguing the locker room. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks as the anger bubbled in him. He glowered nastily at Gimpsky, his eyes narrowed dangerously. He removed his wand from the diagram and stuck it into his robe pocket, his hand shaking in his fury.

"You have to take the Magpies _seriously_!" he roared, his face flushed. "When they beat us because you're so cocky about it--"

"Wood, don't worry. We're taking the Magpies very seriously," Joscelind Wadcock piped up, untangling her blue robes from Wilda Griffiths. She flicked her muddy, brown ponytail over her shoulder, her eyes staring earnestly up at Oliver. "Besides, we never really follow your tactics anyway so you really don't need to get mad…and it's _early _in the morning." She clapped a hand over her mouth, a long, shuddering yawn slipping from her lips.

Oliver's glare softened slightly, but he was slightly disappointed. "Alright, well…Gimpsky, Gelson--make sure you aim for Maddock's right leg. It's his bad leg. Got crushed in an accident when he was playing around with Muggle stuff," he said briskly, grabbing his broom off the wall and placing it on his shoulder.

A yelp erupted from Gimpsky as Oliver accidentally smacked him with his broomstick. Truthfully, he did not mind in the least bit, considering the disastrous date with Sarah Jenkins. They marched onto the pitch, his stomach lurching. His heart jumped wildly in his chest; he struggled to contain himself, but he heard the ragged breaths slipping from his mouth. His head was spinning.

"Alright, there?" He stared at Gimpsky who was kneeling on the ground with the chest open at his feet. He glanced at the struggling Bludger, attempting to free itself from its bondage.

"Yeah," Oliver said feeling the disbelief creeping across his face at his answer. He often felt ill the day before a Quidditch match; the fact that his team did not take him seriously made it worse. He swung his leg over his broom, pushing off with more force than intended. He wobbled into the air, the wind whipping through his locks. He tipped his head to examine the sky; the sun blazed down on their shoulders, wispy clouds streaked across the pale blue skies.

Hours later, his voice hoarse from yelling tactics and instructions, he flew down gracelessly on the dewy grass, his body aching and exhausted but his mind clear. The rest of the team mumbled angrily as they dragged their feet across the pitch toward the locker rooms, beads of sweat collecting on their foreheads. He followed, staggering slightly on a clump of grass, the hems of his blue robes wet as they grazed the dew. His broomstick bumped his shoulder as he walked clumsily across the grass, tipping his head up toward the heavens. The wind, with the trace of a winter bite, skinned their faces mercilessly, countering the blazing sun beating down on their shoulders. He guessed it was around noon. It seemed as though they had playing for hours; Gimpsky kept making cheeky comments. Wilda Griffiths had not quite forgiven him as she glowered at him, walking into the locker rooms with her anger mutters filling the air.

Oliver walked toward their usual bench, sitting next to Jonathan with a heavy sigh. He placed his broomstick gingerly on the floor and shrugged off his blue robes carelessly, watching them droop dejectedly into a pile on the floor. He dug into his battered bag, withdrawing a rather lumpy, grey sweater, reindeers stitched on the bottom in a tawdry fashion. Gimpsky snorted underneath the shirt he was pulling on. He flushed slightly, and it was not because of the wind.

"My mum knitted it for me," he said defensively. "It's quite comfortable…" He pulled it on reluctantly, folding his arms over the reindeer resolutely.

"I'm sure," Gimpsky chuckled, his head poking out of the shirt, his hair considerably ruffled and windswept. Oliver suspected his head looked quite similar; he ran a hand through it, his fingers fruitlessly combing his tangled locks. He clicked his tongue in irritation because he wasted his time in the morning to run a comb through his hair and endure the sly comments of his mirror.

"Shut it, git," Oliver snapped, bending over and snatching his forgotten diagram ruefully, rolling it up carefully. "Did you remember that Maddock's right leg is bad?"

"Yes, Oliver," Jonathan said impatiently, stuffing his dirtied robes and his bat into his large, battered bag, blazing the legend of the Puddlemere United with the signature, intertwining bulrushes stitched in gold. He shoved the dangling sleeve of his robes completely in the bag and zipped it loudly, swinging it over his shoulder, eyeing Oliver as he followed suit, balancing his broom carefully over his shoulder.

"Breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron, mate?" Gimpsky asked.

He shrugged. "I think it's lunch now--" he corrected.

"--yeah, because you're a lunatic," Gimpsky murmured underneath his breath.

"And you kept being a smartass," Oliver interjected annoyed as they emerged from the locker room. He saw Wadcock and Griffiths ahead of them, the skirts of their dresses fluttering in the wind.

"I see Wadcock's _red _knickers!" Gimpsky hollered obnoxiously. Joscelind shot him a withering look over her shoulder, a disgusted scoff escaping her lips as she pressed her skirts down to her legs carefully.

"Gimpsky, I see that bald patch coming in," Wadcock called over her shoulder. Their laughter echoed behind them. "And Wood…nice sweater." Griffiths snorted in an unkempt manner. Oliver glowered at their backs as they walked gracelessly down the sloping hills of the deserted moor.

"I do not," Gimpsky said, placing a hand on his head. "Am I?" He looked quite worried as he glanced at Oliver. He shrugged. "Well, let's get to the Leaky Cauldron." He rubbed his stomach. "I'm hungry, bald or not." From his face, Oliver could tell the comment was still bothering him immensely, but he had coolly shrugged it off for the sake of the rest of his dignity. "See you." He disappeared quickly in a loud crack. Oliver jumped slightly; he had not been expecting it.

He could properly breathe again once the warmth of the pub embraced him and the compressing feeling ensnared around his body ceased. He glanced at the toothless Tom, smiling at them, his shiny head glowing in the light. He noted Gimpsky's eyes landing on the landlord's bald head, his face filled with utmost dread and horror, his hand reaching up to his plentiful head of hair.

Oliver snorted. "Don't seem very happy to see us, mate," Gimpsky said in his ear. He turned his head around, staring at the warlocks huddled around a scuffed table, immersed in _Transfiguration Today_.

"They're reading," he said shooting Gimpsky an odd look.

"No, not them. The witches in the corner, look," Jonathan nudged Oliver. He turned his head to stare at two witches, their eyes burning holes through him, their lips tugged in a deep frown. He caught a flash of pink underneath a mauve sleeve, dread filling the pits of his stomach.

"They think I'm a cheating piece of scum," he said realization dawning on his face, turning to Gimpsky who furrowed his brows.

"Eh?"

Oliver did not answer until Tom slid a plate of chicken and ham sandwiches across the counter in exchange for a few sticky Sickles he placed in his wrinkled palm. Gimpsky impatiently tugged at his sleeve as they ambled toward their usual table, the rickety chairs squeaking lightly as they lowered themselves into them. Oliver glanced at the table; it was oddly empty, considering the whole team usually sat at the table on Wednesdays to play Exploding Snap.

"Answer me," Jonathan demanded through a mouthful of chicken and ham.

Oliver swallowed the several bites of his sandwich, choking as it stuck in his throat. After his coughing and hacking subsided, he stared at Gimpsky with rather watery eyes.

"Well, the _Witch Weekly _seems to think that I have a girlfriend and am cheating on her with several women and that I'm quite abusive toward them," Oliver explained tartly. He managed to extract the pink magazine from Tom, handing it over to Gimpsky who read over the article, nearly choking on his sandwich in his laughter.

"Who's Katie Bell? She's quite the looker," Gimpsky admired as he glanced over at the pictures.

An odd noise escaped his lips like a hiss. "Don't talk about my old Chaser like that!" he said angrily. He was not sure why a slight tinge of anger was bubbling through him; Gimpsky, however, smiled in a knowing, smug fashion.

"I didn't know she was _yours_…"

"Well, she isn't--but I don't--" Oliver sputtered, his cheeks burning. Gimpsky shrugged and folded the magazine, tossing it on the table carelessly next to the empty, plate, crumbs of their ham and chicken sandwiches dotting its porcelain surface. He turned his head to stare at the door creaking open. Oliver followed his gaze, staring at the pretty witch walking in. The sunlight pouring from outside shone brightly in her golden locks, falling in thin sheets around her head. Her large, blue eyes stared at Tom, a smile crossing her lips as she walked over to the bartender.

Gimpsky turned toward Oliver with a grin. "Can I see your list?" Oliver raised a brow. "C'mon, Woody. I'm trying to score you a girlfriend." He sighed, digging into his pocket and handing the worn piece of parchment to Gimpsky. He unfolded it carelessly, smoothing it on the table. He smirked slightly as he raised his eyes to stare at the witch who sauntered toward the table beside theirs, a plate of sandwiches in her hand. Gimpsky kicked Oliver underneath their table.

"Go on, get her to come over," he hissed.

Oliver flushed slightly. "Hey," he said leaning his head over to the witch's table. She stared at him, slightly stunned. Two patches of pink rose to her creamy cheeks, her eyes staring at him in shock. "Want to have a cuppa with me?"

"O-okay," she muttered in a small voice. She got to her feet and sat down in the seat beside him. "Hi," she said quietly to Gimpsky who merely grinned, staring down at the list he had smoothed on his knees.

"What's your name?" Oliver inquired.

"Sophia Flume," she raised her voice an octave, staring him in the eye bravely. He poured her a cup of tea from the red kettle sitting innocently on the table. "And I know who you are…Oliver Wood." As she uttered his name, she became quite breathless, her eyes widening.

"Yeah," he said loudly over Gimpsky's poorly muffled snickers. "So, what are you doing all alone over there?" Gimpsky's sniggers grew louder. He kicked Jonathan underneath the table, shooting him a rather nasty glare.

"Just eating lunch," she said shrugging. "I was going to go shopping later…my father--Ambrosius Flume--he's the owner of Honeydukes so he wanted me to drop by to pick up some boxes of sweets from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"Wow, so you get to eat sweets all the time? Doesn't look like it," he said eyeing her rather, thin frame. She giggled.

"Thanks," she said shyly. "What are you doing here? Excited about that match tomorrow?"  
"Just got back from a practice," Oliver said. "Nervous, actually. The Magpies are historically the best in the league."

"Oh, but you're ranked first in the league in the _Prophet _today--it's not a surprise considering the Beaters and Chasers are really good and the Seeker is okay but--" She glanced at Gimpsky admiringly, her eyes furrowing as she peered at the list Gimpsky was staring at intently on his knees. "What's that?" She gestured to the parchment.

"Oh, nothing, some plays," Oliver said hurriedly. "C'mon, Gimpsky--" But before Jonathan could tuck the list away, Sophia snatched it from him sharply, her eyes reading it carefully, her mouth opening slightly.

"_What_? What's this? Were you--_auditioning _me as a girlfriend for you?" she asked in disgust, her eyes narrowing at Oliver.

"No! Not auditioning, just seeing if you--"

"--fit that list? You're so desperate!" she said shaking in fury as she got to her feet. "I don't want your tea," she spat at him, throwing the cup into his lap. Oliver yelped, jumping as the cold tea splashed over his jeans. The cup rolled on the floor, the table rattling as Oliver's leg smashed into the table in his hurry to brush the tea off him.

Sophia glowered at him before stalking away, leaving her uneaten sandwiches on the table beside them. Gimpsky was overcome with laughter as Oliver waved his wand over his soaking jeans, muttering a Drying Charm underneath his breath.

"Oh, Merlin!" Gimpsky snorted.

"You git," Oliver snarled, sitting down in his seat, his cheeks flushed as the few warlocks and witches scattered in the pub stared at him. A few hissed in irritation at the commotion. "You idiot! I'm going to wake you up at the break of dawn to--"

"Look, there's _your _old Chaser…"

"What?" Oliver jerked his head to the back door of the pub. He stared at the dark waves bouncing through the door, her fuchsia robes glowing in the dim light of the pub. She walked over to toothless Tom, placing herself on a stool.

"_Bell_!"

She laughed, turning her head at Oliver, shaking her head. "Of course," she said as she walked over to the table. "Hey, Wood." She glanced at Gimpsky with a small smile. "And you're Jonathan Gimpsky, right?" He nodded with a large smirk on his face, shaking her hand. She turned to Oliver, shaking her head, her dark eyes sparkling with laughter.

"Merlin, always running into you. I'm starting to get sick of it," she joked.

"Really? Not like I want to see your face all the time either," Oliver snorted. She smacked his arm hard.

"Hey!" He clutched his arm.

"That wasn't _hard _at all," Katie snorted. "You can't be that abusive to your girlfriend if she can beat you up with one slap." He flushed slightly. "Stupid _Witch Weekly_. How's the search going, by the way?" She sat herself down in Sophia's vacant seat, crossing her legs, her foot grazing his leg. "Sorry--" He jumped slightly at the touch, his cheeks burning furiously and his heart skipping a beat for some odd reason.

"It's not that great," he said irritably. "A girl threw a cup of tea at me just now!"

Katie laughed loudly, nearly masking the loud rumble from her stomach. She placed a hand on her stomach apologetically. "Starving," she announced. "Tom has my sandwiches--" She turned her head, glancing at the bar. "I can't stay long--my break is almost over and I wasted it talking to Fred and George…so I'm going to go. But I'm gonna be at that Magpies game tomorrow. Good luck!" She patted Oliver's head teasingly and to his surprise, she bent down to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. "One good luck kiss from your girlfriend," she muttered into his ear. She straightened up, waved politely at Gimpsky, whose smirk widened considerably, and walked toward the bar to grab her sandwiches.

As Gimpsky quickly turned to say something, Oliver was too busy to listen, his hand clasped on his face. His cheek was tingling.

**A/N: Sorry for the slow update! It took me a while to belt this out…I'm not particularly proud of this chapter. I got stuck on it for a while, deciding in which direction to go with the story. I don't really like the chapter; I tried to make it well written and get as much of Oliver's feelings out as I could, but I'm still not satisfied. I wrote over three prototypes that got trashed until I just wrote out this one so…I hope you like it and sorry for the wait!**

**Ollie will get the message soon. Very soon, in fact. **

**Wow, you guys are awesome! I love you!**

**A lot of thanks to: Ashley, imakeeper, Ghostwriter626, sweetblonde14, lilu05 **(oh, he will notice later)**, Meshugenah **(you'll see), **TooSweet4Words **(yeah, I try to update as fast as I can. But this chapter was hard for me)**, Lady Arre **(haha his sister. Yeah the chapter title was meant to throw you off)**, croOKed-aura **(I feel so special!), **MoonShine Fairy **(yes, very blind indeed)**, Celi, Hayakawa, Loopey-Laura, readswim04, amazoness, HamstanatorX, and Kaedwen. Thanks again! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Oliver Oblivious **

_**Oliver reevaluates his life to find that something's missing. On his quest for the perfect girl, he keeps bumping into Katie Bell. If only oblivious Oliver Wood would know that what he was searching for was right under his nose. **_

_Chapter Five:_

_Victories and Losses _

"You're the best, _ruddy _team." He stared at them fiercely, slamming his fist in his palm. His gritted teeth and glint in his eyes gave him a rather manic look to him. His ears perked at the loud cheers and chattering echoing in the stadium outside, the wind, with a trace of winter, slipping into the locker room through the open door. He promptly ignored the blank stares directed at him as to not damper his speech.

"We have the best Chasers--" He stretched out three fingers, gesturing them in the direction of Joscelind Wadcock and Wilda Griffiths, their shoulders slumped against another, sleepy smiles crossing their faces. Basil Bloor gave him a grumpy look, fiddling with the hem of his blue robes, caked permanently with mud.

Undaunted, Oliver plowed on, struggling to maintain the momentum of his speech. "We have the best Beaters…" He turned his head grudgingly toward Gimpsky and glowered; the Beater merely beamed and waved. Busby Gelson grinned, his hands twirling the bat clutched in his fingers.

"Oh, Woody," Gimpsky sighed, pressing his hands to his heart. Oliver rolled his eyes and directed his stare away from Gimpsky.

"We have the best _Seeker_!" He stared proudly at Eric Johnson. Eric smiled meekly and glanced down at his dirtied trainers with utmost fascination.

"And the best Keeper," he said to himself, boosting his self-esteem considerably. Gimpsky nodded gravely. "We're going to beat the Magpies into the ground because winners like to win--we _don't _like to lose."

"This is it…the moment we've been waiting for…the moment to show the world that we're the best, ruddy team!" He raised his voice, expecting shrieks and screams from the women and shouts and whoops from the men. He raised his fist into the air, staring at his team, receiving blank and slightly embarrassed stares back. His speech came crashing down on him, his face slightly disappointed at the reaction. A frown deepened on his face.

"Oliver," Joscelind Wadcock said with a pained look on her face. "Put down your hand, and we'll forget this ever happened." Unfortunately, her voice did not drown out Gimpsky's as he leaned over to Gelson with a grin on his face.

"I knew Wood was going mental," he whispered in a loud, carrying voice.

Oliver, flushing deeply, lowered his fist and turned sharply to his broomstick leaning against the wall, taking it in his hand and glancing at the open door, beams of sunlight cast across the floor in thick strips. The distant, echoing voice of Ludo Bagman rang through the stadium, the voices quickly lowering down to hushed whispers and buzzing. "It's time," he said curtly, still irritated at his team's cheeky response to his speech he had been practicing since yesterday.

After they emerged from the locker rooms onto the pitch, the dew on the grass staining their robes, they shot up into the air to loud screams. Bagman feverishly announced their names, cheers echoing in their ears.

"And…._Wood_!"

Loud cheers, mingled with shouts and jeers, echoed in his ears, a flurry of blue and gold swarming underneath him, faint banners declaring their support fluttering in the wind. Exhilarated, the adrenaline rushed through his veins as he swept gracefully across the pitch, tilting his head up to the endless skies of sapphire, white, wispy clouds floating across the blazing sun. A smile graced his lips; the weather was perfect for a good game of Quidditch. He steered his broom toward the hoops, settling before the center hoop, glaring at their black robes fluttering in the wind. His grip tightened around his broom, and his teeth gritted. He knew the Magpies had the reputation as the most successful team in history, but he liked to think that his team, the Puddlemere United, was the _best_.

"And they're off!" The loud voice of Ludo Bagman echoed into the stadium. Oliver did not have time to ponder on his goblin and gambling troubles because he had caught the glimmer of the Snitch as the referee released the balls from their bondage. He quickly lowered his broom as a Bludger swooped past him. A crack informed him that one of his Beaters had slammed the Bludger toward the Magpies. He hovered among the hoops, his heart pounding. He and his team had practiced intensely for the last week; he didn't even have time to continue his search for a girlfriend, but he desperately wanted to renounce the plan, considering he was splashed with cold tea yesterday. His hand pressed onto his cheek. He could almost feel the tingle of his skin again.

"Maddock has the Quaffle…he's coming to Wood--who, by the way, has been getting a lot of attention concerning his relationships--" His grip slipped from his broom momentarily, but he managed to dart to the right hoop and snatch the Quaffle by the tips of her fingers. "And Wood barely makes it…but Maddock does _not _score!" A mingled amount of cheering and booing ensued. "And the Quaffle's off. Wadcock has it…what is she doing? Going upward…McKnight of the Magpies follows--ooh! She drops it to Bloor. A wonderful Porskoff Ploy! And…Bloor scores!"

Oliver grinned at Wadcock who smiled back and darted back toward the Quaffle, tucking it underneath her arm determinedly. A flutter of black robes made its presence as she headed toward the opposite goals. Oliver swore he saw an elbow nudge into Wadcock's side violently. Anger coursed through him. "FOUL!" Bagman yelled with the crowd. "Excessive use of elbows--_cobbing_--…penalty to Puddlemere…"

"Wadcock takes the shot…and makes it!" Loud roars erupted throughout the stadium. Oliver yelled among them, pumping his fist into the air.

The game began to turn into a rather nasty one, fouls flying everywhere. In retaliation to the elbowing, Griffiths collided purposely into a Magpie Beater, causing him to whack the Bludger in the direction of Maddock who was flying with the Quaffle in his hand. Fortunately, Maddock missed the goal and Oliver's hands managed to make their way around the Quaffle. Maddock furiously attempted a Transylvanian Tackle, but instead managed to actually sink his fist into Gimpsky's nose. An ominous crack echoed in the silent pitch, blood following from Gimpsky's nose. Oliver furiously darted forward on his broom, glaring at Maddock with such fierceness that he floated backward into Wadcock. A few mediwizards rushed to Gimpsky, forcing a potion down his protesting mouth.

Oliver darted back to the hoops, satisfied that Gimpsky's nose had stopped bleeding. He noted that Jonathan's hands gripped tightly around his club, ready to smack Bludgers into the back of Maddock's head, no doubt. Something gold glittered in the corner of his eye; he glanced at the Snitch, but it fluttered away as quickly as it came. He wondered if the Snitch from the 1884 game was still here. The Quidditch game lasted six months in Bodmin Moor because of a Snitch that escaped both Seekers. It was rumored it was still fluttering around in the moor where they were playing their game now.

"And…Maddock scores! Looks like Wood wasn't paying attention!" Oliver started as he stared at the Quaffle that had just whipped past his shoulder blade. Irritated with himself, he gripped his broomstick tightly and hovered above the hoops. A scowl passed Gimpsky's face as he shook his head at Oliver.

"Stop thinking about your imaginary girlfriend," he said obnoxiously as he whipped past Oliver, the tail of his Firebolt 2000 nearly smacking Oliver's face.

"I hope your nose is broken," he called to Gimpsky immaturely. Wadcock rolled her eyes and hovered anxiously on her broom, her dark eyes darting wildly at the Quaffle. Jenkins flew toward Oliver, but was promptly surprised when Bloor grabbed the Quaffle from under his arm and flew toward the other end of the pitch, tossing the red ball to Wadcock who threw it hard into the hoops.

"Wadcock scores--wait…is that the Snitch?" A murmur ran through the crowd and Oliver jerked his head to the Magpie Seeker, Davies. He was hurtling down to the ground in a deep dive. "Or is this just a Wronsky Feint?" But it wasn't; Oliver caught a glimpse of the gold Snitch. He watched Johnson hurtling after Davies, his hand outstretched for the Snitch. Oliver waited anxiously, floating sideways toward his right hoop absentmindedly.

"And…" The crowd held its breath, waiting for the dramatic finish. Oliver's grip tightened around his handle as he watched Johnson's fingers scrape the side of the Snitch wildly. A Bludger zoomed toward Davies, who dodged out of the way hurriedly--"And…JOHNSON CATCHES THE SNITCH! PUDDLEMERE UNITED WINS!"

"That's my boy!" Oliver yelled, darting toward Johnson to join the tangle of blue robes in the middle of the pitch. Arms rained down on his back as they yelled loudly over the echoing cheers in the stadium. Johnson's arm stuck out in the middle of the tangle, his fingers grasped over the Snitch. The grin refused to slip from his face, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. They untangled themselves from another, flying a victory lap around the pitch, listening to the roars of the fans below. The wind whipped through his hair, the adrenaline rushing and the smug smile on his face widening as he watched the black robes of the Magpies dive dejectedly down on the grass.

"And here they are…Wadcock, Bloor, Griffiths, Gimpsky, Gelson, Wood, and Johnson! Johnson with the Snitch…" Bagman wore a deep, weary frown on his face as he flew toward the Top Box; he assumed Bagman had guessed wrong and had gambled away money he did not have. Oliver landed gracefully in the Top Box, staring at the sea of faces cheering for them. He caught the ruddy face of their manager, Philbert Deverill, a large bottle of Odgen's Firewhiskey swinging in his hand. His eye caught something dark flying in the air; he turned his head and saw the bouncing, dark waves. Startled, he slipped off the end of his broom, knocking into Gimpsky.

"Damn it, Wood! What the hell are you doing?" He pushed Oliver back on his feet as he stared at Katie Bell, laughing and raising her hand to give a small, discreet wave. He smiled back at her, his stomach lurching for some odd reason.

"Who're you staring at?" Gimpsky said tugging at his sleeve impatiently. He tore his gaze away from Katie, staring at Gimpsky with a large, smug smile on his face.

"Nobody," he snapped irritably. "It was just--"

Warm breath washed over his face, the strong scent of firewhiskey lingering underneath his nose. He turned his head away from Gimpsky and stared at a grinning Philbert Deverill, grateful for the distraction. His small eyes were slightly bloodshot, Oliver noted as he peered into the man's large, ruddy face.

"Keep this up, Wood, and we're going to win the League Cup!" he said, clapping a large hand on his back. His large, plump face broke out into a broad grin, revealing his yellowing teeth.

"Yeah," Oliver said his spirits rising considerably at the thought. "Only three more matches…"

"You're going to the party tonight, aren't you?" Deverill was referring to his infamous galas he held at his large, generous manor after a winning game; the most important wizards attended the party and usually left horribly drunk and filled with firewhiskey. Oliver grinned widely.

"'Course!" he said. His eye wandered over to Katie's smiling face as she chatted with a wizened witch.

* * *

"Are you going with anybody to the party?"

Gimpsky's feet rested on the coffee table, his woolly, maroon socks rubbing against a battered, yellowed _Daily Prophet_. He wore a lazy grin on his face, his fingers wrapped tightly around a rather dusty bottle of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey. He was the state of dishevel, his hair ruffled and grey sweater rather lumpy on his burly frame. He turned his head to Oliver, his grin still intact and his eyes twinkling.

"As a matter of fact," he began answering in a slightly slurred voice, "I am." He chuckled, his lips curling around the top of the bottle, swinging his head back. He gulped down the firewhiskey, lowering the nearly empty bottle down into his lap.

"Really?" Oliver asked curiously, considerably sober compared to the slightly inebriated Gimpsky. He admitted Jonathan held his alcohol well; he would've been singing Celestina Warbeck at the top of his lungs, clad in only his underwear, if he had drunk a whole bottle of firewhiskey. He smiled wryly at the figures slumped on the sofas, their blue robes wrinkled and their hands clutching bottles of firewhiskey. They were the only two members of the Puddlemere United who had managed to not pass out in Oliver's sitting room. "Who?"

"You'll see," Gimpsky said mysteriously. "Do you?" He snorted in an ungainly fashion. "'Course not…dumped tea…" He mumbled in a string of incoherent words. Oliver glowered, knowing full well what Jonathan met. He smacked him upside the head, earning a particularly nasty look from Gimpsky. "Bloody wanker."

"Stupid prat," Oliver shot back. "Who's the girl?"

"I told you--you'll _see_," Gimpsky slurred. "What time is it?"

Oliver glanced at the clock, the hands informing him it was around four. "Four…" Gimpsky smiled knowingly and drained the last of the firewhiskey in his bottle.

They whittled away the afternoon, sprawled out on the sofa, talking about nonsensical things, the topic ranging from Quidditch to nifflers. The rest of the Puddlemere United stirred in the middle of their conversation, placing their hands on their pounding heads and listening in on Gimpsky's fascinating stories.

"Yeah, my uncle had this nice watch…about hundred Galleons, I suspect…anyway, nifflers went and ate it off his hand…didn't come out 'till two days. I don't think he wanted to wear it anymore."

"_Ugh_…" Oliver shuddered, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. His eyes widened in surprise, flitting to the darkening skies outside. "Damn, almost time for Deverill's party."

"Merlin, my head hurts," Wadcock moaned, her muddy brown hair mussed, the tangled tresses hanging out of the elastic she had tied around them firmly. Her fingers rubbed her temples roughly, her eyes screwed shut.

"There's some potion in the kitchen," Oliver said easily.

After they refreshed themselves and managed to lift their lazy buttocks off the warmth of the sofas, they stood outside of Oliver's house, looking as though hours earlier they were not slumped in the sitting room, intoxicated. Oliver stared admiringly at their pressed robes, wondering how Twinky managed to smooth out the unsightly wrinkles on them.

"Where's the girl you're taking?" Oliver asked suddenly, turning to Gimpsky. He gave him a sly smile.

"I'm meeting her there," Gimpsky said simply.

"I can't drink anymore," Wadcock moaned to Griffiths, who patted her shoulder sympathetically. They disappeared with a loud crack; the rest of the team followed suit. Oliver gasped for breath, loud music throbbing in his ears suddenly. He glanced around, staring at the familiar manor, glittering in fairy lights and featuring the musical styling of the Weird Witches. Murmurs ran throughout the room, shrieks of delight mingling with the buzz around them.

"Aha! And the Puddlemere United is here," Deverill said loudly, appearing out of nowhere and slinging a large, fleshly arm around Oliver's shoulders. "Oliver Wood, the captain! He led them into victory!" Polite clapping and cheers filled the room. After Deverill dragged him about the room, introducing him to several, important wizards donned in their elegant dress robes and sleek mustaches, he managed to escape the rowdy, burly man and sat in a chair, drinking a glass of mulled mead.

He moaned quietly as an oddly, familiar witch approached him as soon as he escaped Deverill. He fixed a forced smile on his face, but did not fail to notice that she was rather pretty. Her dark hair was sleekly pulled back into a neat chiffon, revealing her delicate, bony neck and her high, prominent cheekbones. Her large, sapphire eyes sparkled in the light as they settled on him, a smile crossing her face. Clad in a bold, red frock with its flared skirts and its daring sweetheart neckline, she looked distinguishable in the sea of black dress robes. Despite her evident beauty, he steeled himself. His recent encounters with women had taught him to expect the worst.

"Hi, I'm Prudence Wilson," she said audaciously, revealing her white teeth in a small grin. She stuck out a surprisingly calloused hand, which he shook. "Mind if I sit with you?" She gestured at the seat beside his. He shrugged. She sat down and twisted her body toward him eagerly. "You're a good Keeper. I'm on the reserve team." He suddenly realized why she had looked familiar; she chuckled at the realization dawning upon his face.

"Deverill drunk as usual," she said turning her head to the ruddy man, laughing uproariously and spilling firewhiskey down his front as he stumbled across the room.

"Yeah," Oliver said rather stiffly.

He was quite surprised when he was proved wrong. Prudence was considerably normal. Sometimes, he found her rather dull and forced conversation with her. Otherwise, she was quite pleasant and pretty. He noticed that she did not have the sudden urge to throw the butterbeer in her hand at him. Nor did she refer to herself as Prudence Wood. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips at the thought of finally meeting a normal witch. The list drudged itself up from the back of his mind. He noted that she, so far, had qualified for most of the characteristics he was looking for in a girlfriend.

But something was missing. Oliver drove himself nearly insane as he struggled to pinpoint what quality Prudence was missing. As he continued to wonder, he caught a glimpse of dark waves, glowing in the light.

"_Bell_?"

He found it rather difficult to breathe for a moment. She turned around, her dark eyes sparkling in the light. The chiffon of her dress, decorated with a navy and white floral pattern, fluttered as she whirled around to smile at Oliver. Somehow, she looked more bold and radiant than Prudence in her empire dress, her dark waves pulled in a low ponytail, slung over her delicate shoulder.

"Hey, Wood," she greeted, walking toward them, the points of her flamboyant, red pumps grazing the marble floor. "Hi," she added politely to Prudence, who stared at her with an impassive face.

"What are you doing here?" Oliver managed to choke out, finding his tongue finally and began to breathe again. His heart jumped in his chest, and his stomach lurched. He had no idea why his body was reacting this way. "_Prophet_?"

"_Actually_," Katie began, flushing slightly, "I'm here with…" She trailed off, her face turning a deeper red.

"Hey, Kates. This is where you've been." Oliver narrowed his eyes at the familiar, booming voice and glowered up at Gimpsky who wrapped his arm around Katie's shoulders. His hands curled up into fists, and an unexplainable anger bubbled inside him, spreading through his veins and burning in the back of his throat. His hands itched to break Gimpsky's neck. A monster named jealousy roared inside him, although he was not quite aware of it.

"This is your date?" Oliver's voice rang with cold fury.

Gimpsky, who seemed oblivious to his anger, grinned. "Yeah, your old Chaser, eh?" he said beaming. "Quite the looker." Katie's face flushed to a tomato red. "Ah, don't be embarrassed, Kates."

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't mind because I'm your best mate and besides, you haven't seen Kates in a while, have you--"

"Gimpsky!" a considerably drunk Deverill roared, bumping into him. "You--you're amazing." He grinned and dragged Gimpsky off. Oliver's eyes followed Gimpsky, the anger surging through him. He clenched his fists, his fingernails digging painfully into his palms.

"Oliver?"

He turned back to Prudence, her face slightly irritated. "Oh, right," he said indifferently, unable to focus on her words because of the anger pounding through him.

Suddenly, he realized something.

**A/N: And what did little Ollie realize? I have no clue. It could be the obvious, but it could be something else. You don't really know as of yet.**

**Oh, Oliver. Jealous little bugger, ain't he? I hope this chapter meets up to your standards…I wrote it on two tries and it only took me about three days. The end is near. Like in two more chapters. I'm not really the one to write 50 chapters for a story because frankly, I would run out of ideas so I have no idea how some of you do it. **

**I hope this is long enough. About 6 pages without author's note, chapter title, summary, etc. **

**Ah, I love you guys! Sticking with my story and all… You guys make me blush with your compliments and you guys are really sweet. Thank you. **

**Thanks to all my reviewers: **

**Ashley - **Thanks! Ollie is blind, but he's seeing something now.  
**MoonShine Fairy **- Yup, Oliver is finally seeing the light. Thank you.

**Ara7 - **Thanks…Took me a while to figure what to do with the _Witch Weekly _article.

**Kaedwen - **Thank you very much.

**Celi **- Yeah, Katie is definitely the more level-headed than Oliver…who's just plain desperate. Thanks.

**lilangelxox - **Thanks!

**PiscesWeb25** - Thanks a lot!

**readswim04 **- Yep, Katie's the 'girlfriend'…for now, at least. Mwahaha. Thanks.

**Meshugenah **- You'll see…your suspicions might be right or wrong. Heh. Thanks!

**Ghostwriter626 - **He is in lurve. Hehe.

**imakeeper - **Thanks!

**sweetblonde14** - Thank you!

**Lady Arre - **Thank you so much! I'm happy that you think that highly of my story and that particular chapter. Haha. Thanks a bunches.

**TooSweet4Words **- Thank you very much.

**tiedye **- Thank you! I'm flattered.


	6. Chapter 6

Oliver flushed deeply as he tried to tug the toilet paper out of the back of his pants. He had also realized that in his drunken stupor, he had tied up Twinky and put her in the oven. He hoped that she was not burnt to a crisp when he came back home because that would surely be a fine from the Ministry. He was sure it was crime to cook your house elf.

**Not really. That's not how the story goes. Poor Twinky.**

**--------------------------**

**Oliver Oblivious **

_**Oliver reevaluates his life to find that something's missing. On his quest for the perfect girl, he keeps bumping into Katie Bell. If only oblivious Oliver Wood would know that what he was searching for was right under his nose. **_

_Chapter Six:_

_Closet Revelations _

"How long have you been dating my old Chaser?"

His voice radiated with anger, his eyes flashing dangerously. His nails dug painfully into his palms as the fury bubbled inside him. His grip tightened around the neck of the firewhiskey bottle; the bottle groaned painfully in his hand, emitting ominous creaks from under his fingers.

"Aren't we possessive? _Your _Chaser, eh?" Gimpsky drawled, amusement dripping from every word he uttered. Oliver blinked, flushing deeply.

"Well, she _was _my Chaser--I was just stating the facts, I mean…she used to be on my House team--" Oliver stopped amid his blubbering, his face turning a deeper shade of red. He frowned slightly, staring up at Gimpsky's shadowed face.

"Is that all you wanted--the reason you pulled me into this closet?" Gimpsky pushed away a battered cloak from his face, coughing as the musty odor from the cloak wafted over his face. His face glowed in faint light falling through the cracks of the closed door. The laughter and talk of the party was muffled in the dark, cramped closet. Oliver shook his head, sliding down the wall and slumping on the floor, balancing the bottle of firewhiskey on his knees.

"I found the perfect girl for me," he said. The words felt odd tumbling out his mouth; for some odd reason, he did not feel ecstatic or _completed_ like he thought he would be. "She was everything on the list." He glanced up at Gimpsky's face, a knowing, smug smirk twisted on his lips, illuminated by the crack of light falling through the door. He ran a hand through his head, doubtful thoughts running through his mind. It didn't feel _right_.

"Well, who is it?" Gimpsky said, swatting away a cloak from his face impatiently. He looked quite certain of himself, his smirk widening. He settled down on the floor after battling a cloak furiously, his darkened face staring at Oliver with anticipation.

"You know…Prudence Wilson," he said, his voice rather unconvincing to his ears. He thought he saw an alarmed, astonished look pass Gimpsky's face, but when he looked again, the light showed Gimpsky's smirking face.

"Good job, mate," he said heartily, leaning over and smacking Oliver's shoulder. "Happy for you. Finally getting that girl. Well, I think I'm going to get out of this closet--it's getting rather cramped in here and uncomfortable. Besides, Kates is waiting for me out there. If I'm lucky, I might convince her to stay at my flat--"

Oliver's hand gripped tightly around the neck of the bottle. "_What_?" he said tersely. "You can't do that!"

"Why? Do you fancy her or something?" Gimpsky joked.

"Don't--" he began jerkily, his eyes narrowed dangerously. His hand balled into a tight fist, yearning to sink into Gimpsky's grinning face.

"Do you? I thought you liked Prudence," Jonathan said his grin spreading across his face, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "Are you jealous?"

Oliver gaped, astonished. His cheeks burned furiously. "No!" he said immediately. "I just--I don't like hearing that you…well--that my old Chaser and you will…" His stomach twisted at the thought, and his grip tightened around the firewhiskey bottle.

"Okay, then," Gimpsky said climbing to his feet and twisting the closet door open. Blinding light fell on Oliver, revealing his reddened face and his pale knuckles on the firewhiskey bottle. His brown eyes were flashing with fury. Gimpsky obliviously stared down at Oliver with a large grin.

"Well, good luck with Prudence," he said walking towards the noise of the party, leaving Oliver stretched on the floor of the closet, his hand squeezing the firewhiskey bottle forcefully. It wasn't until an old, wizened witch hobbled to the closet to retrieve her cloak that Oliver left the closet, earning a curious stare from the witch.

He sidled beside Prudence again, staring into her face as she gabbled on, drinking her firewhiskey heartily. And although she was everything he thought he wanted, something felt terribly wrong. He could not seem to shake off the anger that coursed through him every time he thought of Jonathan Gimpsky and Katie Bell.

* * *

"_What _is it?"

Joscelind Wadcock stared at him irritably, a bite of impatience lacing her voice. She carefully balanced her broomstick over her shoulder, tossing her long, muddy brown ponytail behind her. She glanced wistfully over her shoulder at Griffiths and Bloor, laughing loudly at the something Eric Johnson was miming wildly with his hands.

"Sorry, Wood, but I think I played pretty well today. So don't even think about making me stay behind--frankly, I don't think we shouldn't even _have _practice because we just had our game two days ago and--"

"No, it's not that," Oliver said his face flushing slightly. "I need to talk to you."

Joscelind read his face with her eyes carefully. "Oh," she said comprehension dawning on her face, her expression softening considerably. "Leaky Cauldron?" Oliver nodded. "Alright," she said patiently. They walked down the sloping hills of the deserted moor quietly, brooms over their shoulders, solemn expressions on their faces. Without waiting for the rest of the team, they Apparated to the warm ambiance of the pub.

"Spill," Joscelind demanded as soon as they sat down at the scrubbed table with their drinks before them and their brooms propped against their chairs. She ignored the buzz of excitement from the group of teenagers, their eyes widening and their hands digging hurriedly into their pockets for spare quills and parchment.

"I found someone," he began uncertainly, "but…I just…it doesn't feel right. She was everything I wrote down on…"

"On what?" Oliver had forgotten that Wadcock knew nothing of the list. Embarrassed, his cheeks burning considerably, he extracted the crinkled ball of parchment out of his pocket. She furrowed her brows as she smoothed the parchment out on the table, torn at the edges from wear. It was a mark of her respect for him that she did not laugh, but he saw her struggling face.

"Oh, _Wood_," she sighed. "So this girl, she's everything on here?"

"Yeah…" Oliver squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, his face warm.

"Maybe…" She stared up at him wearily. "Maybe fate's trying to tell you something--don't interrupt and tell me you don't believe in fate--just listen. You're not meant to be with this girl, even if she meets the requirements of this--" She shook the list. "Besides, Wood, I don't think the perfect girlfriend is even this list. It's kind of a pathetic list with a lot of holes in it," she added apologetically.

Oliver tapped his fingers on the table, struggling with himself. He stared at Joscelind's earnest face. "And well, I'm mad at Gimpsky. But it's completely…" He stopped, searching for a word. "…crazy, for a lack of a better word…" She stared at him patiently, sipping her mulled mead carefully. "I'm mad at him for no reason. I'm mad at him because he's dating my old Chaser from the House team, Katie Bell. I've been seeing _her _everywhere, too. I…don't know. It made me furious when I saw them together. Sick to my stomach…am I mad?" He stared up at her as he dug his hands through his windswept hair.

He liked talking to Wadcock; she was the most sympathetic and least judgmental of his friends. She listened to him with such uncanny patience that it scared him sometimes. He stared up at her, surprised at the knowing smile on her lips. "Are you _jealous_, Wood?" she said smiling brightly. "How do you feel about Katie Bell?"

The question caught him off-guard. Slightly surprised, he blinked up at Joscelind's face, her eyes innocent and her smile intact. "She's easy to talk to," Oliver said, startling himself. "She can just talk about nonsensical things and I'll listen. She makes me laugh. I feel like she knows me sometimes…you know, maybe because I knew her in Hogwarts. But I used to just see her as my Chaser. Just that girl who scores points for Gryffindor. But lately, I've been seeing more of her lately. She's smart. Whenever I see her--" He paused. "--this sounds terribly…cheesy and I might be a bloody wanker for saying this but--whenever I see her, she literally…she really does make me breathless." He winced at the words tumbling out his mouth. "My stomach does this flip when I see her. She's pretty."

A scoff escaped Joscelind's lips, but she waved her hand impatiently as he stopped. "And…I don't know. It just made me so angry to see _her _with Gimpsky."

Joscelind's smile, if possible, widened even more, her eyes sparkling and wrinkles forming round her mouth. "You fancy her, Oliver," she said quite seriously, despite the smile on her lips. "Isn't it obvious?"

Oliver did not protest because a sickening realization crashed down upon him. "And she was right underneath my nose," he voiced the thought running through his head with a trace of bitterness.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, eh?" Joscelind said waggling her brows. "I mean, seeing her out of the blue…_all _the time. And now Gimpsky dating her. Oh, Oliver." Her smile faded from her face.

They finished their drinks in silence and began to part ways. Oliver placed his aviators on his face and turned to Joscelind, who smiled at him. "'Till next time?"

"Yeah," Oliver said.

He listened to the crack behind him, staring at the spot where Joscelind Wadcock disappeared. He wandered toward Quality Quidditch Supplies, his thoughts muddled in his mind. An ironic smile crossed his face as he mulled over everything. He glanced at the small crowd huddled around the glass, the small boys pressing their noses on the window to peer at the display of official Puddlemere United robes. He smiled slightly to himself as he walked into the comforts of the store. The bell jingled happily as he pushed open the door.

"Hi, can I help you?"

The familiar witch beamed up at him, clutching a large box of gloves. Her eyes fell on his face, her brows knitting above her nose. "No, just looking today," he said quickly, walking quickly into an aisle, pulling off his aviators in the safe, secluded aisle. He glanced at a shiny wooden chest, opened to display the red Quaffle inside. He picked up an issue of _Which Broomstick _carefully, flipping through its pages in deep interest.

"Wood!" A loud booming voice brought him out of his reverie. He jerked his head toward Gimpsky, a large grin on his face. He frowned slightly as the burly figure bounded up to him, controlling the anger threatening to well up inside him.

"Hi," he said stiffly, putting the magazine back on the rack reluctantly.

"'Course, you would be here," Gimpsky said beaming brightly.

"Talk with me, will you?" he said suddenly.

"Where?" Gimpsky looked puzzled as Oliver weaved through the aisles, spotting a closet in the far corner of the room. "Oh, damn. Not another one--" Oliver dragged him into the closet, closing the door shut behind them.

It was dark and musty. He blindly groped into his pocket and extracted his wand. "_Lumos_," he murmured to the tip. A burst of light emitted from the tip, illuminating their faces. Gimpsky stared at him with amusement. "Alright. I need to tell you something." He swallowed, feeling the cold sweat on his forehead. He perched on a wooden crate, staring at the old, battered broomsticks leaning against the wall. Gimpsky followed suit, the crate creaking ominously as he sat on it.

"I think I like Katie…no, fancy her," he blurted out immediately.

He peered up at Gimpsky, expecting him to jump up and tell him that he was a bloody wanker. However, he was quite astonished to see Gimpsky burst out into a relieved grin. "Oh, Merlin!" he said laughing loudly.  
"What?" Oliver said stunned. "Why are you _laughing_?" He nearly dropped his wand, but tightened his grip around it.

"Took you a while, didn't you?" Gimpsky said his laughter subsiding.

"What do you mean?" Oliver asked, terribly confused.

"Oh, Oliver," Gimpsky said shaking his head soberly. "You see--"

The door swung open, revealing the overly excited witch, her black locks falling down her shoulder. Her eyes widened at the sight of them, perched on the crates and staring up at her with flushed faces. "O-Oliver Wood and Jonathan Gimpsky!" she said excitedly. "Oh…wow, what are you doing in here? Can I have…" She was brimming with excitement as she dug hurriedly into her robes to extract a spare piece of parchment and a quill.

Oliver stared curiously at Gimpsky, wondering what he was going to say as he scribbled absentmindedly across the parchment, handing it back to the witch.

"Now I have two autographs from Oliver Wood! And one from Jonathan Gimpsky. Oh _wow_…"

**A/N: Short. So to make it clearer if I didn't make it clear enough, Ollie did NOT realize he liked Katie the last chapter--instead, he realized Prudence was everything on his list. I tried to make Oliver as…well, masculine as possible, but sharing his feelings with Joscelind is like a little ritual they have because Joscelind is understanding and doesn't tease him much about things. **

**Hopefully, this was a good chapter. It was shorter than usual, I know.**

**Thanks to: **

**Me **(Thanks, I'm quite flattered), **MoonShine Fairy **(Yeah, Quidditch matches are hard. I had to pull out my Quidditch Throughout the Ages and HP-Lexicon…that site is everything Harry Potter. Crazy), **readswim04 **(sorry, I hate being left hanging but then again, I love writing cliffhangers haha. Adds to the suspense), **Meshugenah **(oh, look at you speculating. What is Gimpsky going to tell Ollie? I think you're on the right track hehe), **Ghostwriter626 **(nope, but he did realize that later on), **amazoness **(haha), **Celi**, **Ara7**, **imakeeper **(seriously? As dramatic as Laguna Beach? Haha), **Hey There Delilah **(Haha toilet paper. I love Ollie too), **mind on sleave **(quick enough of an update for you? Haha), **TooSweet4Words, zoechandler **(3 in the morning? Now I'm really flattered!), **MiSs WeStHoFf HeRsElF **(yes, he realized he was gay. Haha. I loved your guesses), and **sweet-sternchen **(Thank you! I think your English is really good actually. I'm hopeless with other languages).


	7. Chapter 7

**Oliver Oblivious **

_**Oliver reevaluates his life to find that something's missing. On his quest for the perfect girl, he keeps bumping into Katie Bell. If only oblivious Oliver Wood would know that what he was searching for was right under his nose. **_

_Chapter Seven:_

_Conspiracies Revealed_

"Oliver, are you feeling ill?" He jerked out of his reverie, staring down at his hand clutching the silver spoon that was clanking feverishly in his steaming teacup. He stared down at the pink confetti floating in the murky depths of his tea, furrowing his brows. He raked a hand through his windswept, brown locks, shaking off the confetti that had settled among his tangled locks. Oliver glanced at the apprehensive face peering at him, her large, sapphire eyes sparkling with worry. He jumped slightly at the warmth brushing against his arm. He glanced down at her calloused hand cupped on his arm.

"Sorry," Prudence Wilson murmured, patches of pink on her cheeks. "I was just…you've been staring at nothing for a while now. Don't you like it here?" She gestured about the cramped, lurid tea shop. Oliver stared at her face; she seemed mediocre and plain compared to Katie.

"Yes," he lied. Madam Puddifoot's was less than charming with its tawdry, garish pink and the cherubs floating above their heads, throwing fistfuls of confetti down upon them. As another shower of confetti flew over their tea, he brushed down his robes as he climbed to his feet. "Listen, Prudence. Honestly, I…I've been thinking about someone else. I'm sorry." He accidentally bumped his leg on the table beside theirs, disrupting a couple, glued permanently to the lips. The witch shrieked as her cold cup of tea jumped into her lap.

To his surprise, Prudence did not throw her tea on his robes. She calmly climbed to her feet, brushing the confetti off her jeans with a sad, knowing smile twisted on her face. "It's that Katie girl, isn't it? I saw at the party," she said. "You only came here because you wanted to tell me that?"

Dumbfounded, Oliver nodded. He opened his mouth to speak--"_You_!" He turned round to stare at the livid witch, glowering at him. Her tasteless, white skirt was stained with brown tea. "You get tea on my skirt and you don't so much as apologize! Who do you think you _are_? The Minister?" She poked her plump finger into his chest painfully, her hand gripped tightly around her wand. Her loud screeches pierced his ears; he winced, staring at the couples tearing apart from the lips to stare at the commotion. Madam Puddifoot, herself, came hurrying over, her large hips smashing into the cramped tables, sending tea kettles and coffee pouring across the pink tablecloth.

Prudence grabbed hold of the sleeve of his shirt, pulling him out of the tea shop quickly. He stumbled out into the streets of Hogsmeade, walking quickly as Prudence dragged him down the path, far from the tea shop and the furious witch. "I thought that woman was going to _murder _you!" she gasped, her eyes large.

"You seem to be taking this rather well," Oliver said honestly.

"Well," she said her tone brisk, "you seemed preoccupied during the party. I knew you were jealous. I'm quite a good sport, aren't I? Quidditch has taught me that. Besides, we haven't even _snogged _yet." Her eyes twinkled as she said this, watching his face turn red.

"W-well," he sputtered.

She laughed, her laughter loud and raucous, reminding him of Gimpsky's laugh. At the thought of Jonathan Gimpsky, he wondered what he was going to tell him in the closet yesterday. After being harassed by the witch, Gimpsky disappeared before Oliver could resume the conversation. "Have you snogged that other girl?"

He flushed. "I take that as a no!" she giggled.

"Well, I didn't really realize I actually…_fancied _her. The realization sunk in yesterday," he said shaking his head.

"Men are thick," Prudence said smartly, ignoring the look he shot her. "Well, good--an owl." He furrowed his brows at her; she lifted up her hand, pointing at something behind him. He turned around, staring at the familiar, barn owl bobbing in the air with a messily, folded piece of parchment clamped in its beak.

"Gimpsky," he said simply, taking the letter from the owl. "Thanks, Bowman," he added the owl.

"Bowman?" Prudence asked as Oliver unfolded the crinkled parchment hurriedly.  
"Yeah, named after the guy who invented the Snitch," he said absentmindedly, his eyes glued on the parchment.

"I'll just leave you to it then, Oliver," Prudence said formally, sticking out a hand. He shook her calloused hand vaguely, turning back to the letter with a burning curiosity.

_Hello, mate,_

_Considering you like to drag me into closets to talk (by the way, you're lucky that witch was thick enough not to realize what it means when two grown men are in a closet together), I decided to just write you a letter to tell you. I also didn't know how you were going to react because I don't want you to strangle me as well. I'm much too pretty to be die that way. Well, Wood, you're thick, but let's start back to the beginning, shall we? _

_Well, think back to the _Witch Weekly _article. Remember when I said that that Katie Bell was a looker (which she is) and you got all mad? And the look on your face when she sat down with us…and when you two talked. It was so obvious. And your face when she kissed your cheek! That's when I smartly realized you must fancy her or something. Maybe you didn't realize it. I visited her with the list and she was everything on it (I snuck the list back into your pocket during practice. Sneaky, eh?). She said you two have been bumping into each other for a while now and maybe she fancies you a little…and I told her I think you fancied her too. Except you're too much of a thick git to really get it so I decided to get you to realize it. 'Course, the Quidditch match was coming up and all so I decided to take her as my date so you'd be spitting jealous. And you were. But then Prudence came into the picture. I knew you fancied Kates though because you kept staring at her. Oh, Woody, isn't it so obvious? _

_I knew you so well that I knew you'd come running to Joscelind for girl talk over tea and cookies. It's so cute that you share your feelings, Woody. I've know this for a while now because Wadcock can't keep a secret. But don't worry, I don't know what you guys talk about so it's not really that bad. I told her about Katie. And as planned, she got you to realize you fancied Kates. So really, the past few days was a conspiracy. Aw, Woody, it was really my necessary duty as a friend to get involved with your love life. Just as well because you were starting to scare me. I knew you were desperate, but really… _

_You're are grown up now, Ickle Woodykins. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. If it doesn't work out with you and Katie, we can always meet in a closet and profess our love for each other. _

_--Jonathan _

Oliver rolled his eyes, folding the letter carefully, struggling to ignore the waves of shock crashing down on him. He should've known. "Prat," he muttered underneath his breath, tucking the letter in his pocket. But he couldn't wipe the smile that was widening across his face as he strode down the path in jaunty steps. He didn't even mind when a witch bumped into him, carrying a _Mimbulus mimbletonia _in her arms, and splattered him with something particularly stinky.

* * *

"May I interest you in some potions?"

Oliver jumped, staring down at the leering, mossy teeth and the gleaming eyes staring at him. His tattered robes fluttered around his thin frame as he circled Oliver, holding up glass bottles filled with murky, sludgy potion. The old wizard's warm breath washed over his face, the strong scent of firewhiskey hovering underneath his nose. He stumbled backward, hitching up a small smile on his face as he stared at the wizard, horrified.

"No, I'm fine," he said.

"But sir, it has _rare _dragon blood and protects you from--"

"No," he said firmly, turning around and walking purposely down the streets of Diagon Alley. His jeans had the faint scent of something putrid from the plant, and the smile he wore hours before slid off his face to make room for a deep frown. He had no idea where Katie Bell was; it seemed ironic that when he was not looking for her, she appeared out of the blue. Now, looking for her, she seemed impossible to find. He checked the Leaky Cauldron and the Quality Quidditch Supplies store, avoiding the fanatic witch by placing his aviators on his nose and ducking his head down. He began walking toward the _Daily Prophet _building, almost surpassing the height of Gringott's.

Oliver hurried down the street, pushing past the crowds of witches and wizards, reaching the building. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and strode through the glass doors, placing his sunglasses carefully on the top of his tangled, messy hair. A rather bored witch looked up at him from her desk, large letters on the blank wall behind her scrawling the words _Daily Prophet_. Her expression quickly changed, her eyes widening in shock and recognition. He inwardly groaned as he approached the desk, folding his arms across his chest and flashing the witch a small smile.

"Hi, how may I help you, Mr. Wood?" she asked in a rather shrill voice.

"Is Katie Bell working here today?" Her eyes widened to the size of plates; he did not doubt she had read the _Witch Weekly _article.

"She just left," the witch said slowly, her face stunned.

"Where'd she go?" Oliver asked impatiently.

"Home, I think," the witch said her wide eyes staring at him.

Oliver waved absentmindedly at her, striding through the glass doors. He stopped in the middle of the crowds; he didn't know where Katie Bell lived. He whirled around and strode back through the doors, the witch jerking up from a _Witch Weekly _to stare at him in utter disbelief and surprise. "_Where _does she live?"

She dived quickly underneath her desk, papers rustling as she withdrew a folder and opened it, revealing a smiling picture of Katie. His stomach lurched at the sight of her sparkling, dark eyes and her pretty face. Papers fell on the picture as the witch flipped through the folder, extracting out a single piece of yellowing parchment with a flourish. "The…Bodmin flats in London," she read from the paper. "Just around the corner…" But she never finished her sentence because Oliver's jittery legs carried him out the door and through the crowds quickly. The witch was right about the flats; as he turned the corner sharply, he stared up at the row of flats before him, painted a creamy white and adorned with black shutters. A particularly, gnarled oak tree cast shadows across the front entrance of the flats, a shadowed, glass door. He jogged up the stairs, his fingers brushing lightly against the curved railings. He tried the handle, groaning loudly as he jingled the locked door. "Do you live here, sir?"

He nearly fell down the stairs at the sound of the squeaky voice; instead, he stumbled and fell on his back, staring up at the house elf emerging from the shadows, its large blue eyes staring at him as it sunk down into a deep bow, its nose brushing against the ground.

"No," he said flushing, climbing to his feet. His buttocks would never be the same. "I'm looking for Katie Bell?"

"Sorry, sir. Ms. Bell is not home," the house elf squeaked, shaking its head grimly, its ears flapping wildly and hitting its long, slender nose.

"Oh," he said a tinge of disappointment in his voice. "Alright." He walked down the steps, irritated. He tipped his head up to the blue skies, the sun smiling down on his head. "Hilarious," he told the heavens. "Just peachy."

"Why are you talking to the sky?"

"Have you finally gone mental, Oliver?"

He jerked his head down to stare at the two, identical twins before him, their grins wide across their freckled faces and their red hair glowing brightly in the sun. Their fuchsia robes clashed horribly with their hair. "Fred? George?" he said incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Ollie. We're here to visit our dear friend, Katie," one of the twins said. Oliver suspected it was George.

"George?"

"No, _Fred_!" the twin said affronted.

"Sorry," Oliver said quickly. "So, Fred--"

"Just playing with you, Oliver. It's George," George said chuckling. Oliver rolled his eyes.

"Katie's not home," he informed him.

"Just kidding, it's really Fred," Fred said. Oliver was having a headache; his fingers flew to his temples.

"So who is _who_?" he said with a large bite of impatience in his voice.

"You dolt." The twin (whoever he was) pointed at his chest, a Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes pin shining on his robes with his name engraved on it.

"Fred," Oliver read. He turned to George. "George."

"Katie's not home, eh? Coming to visit her?" Fred said slyly.

"Yeah," Oliver said flushing slightly.

Fred and George exchanged knowing looks and went to either side of Oliver, slinging their arms around his shoulders and steering him down the street. "Katie's been talking about you lately, mate," Fred said with a grin.

"Wondering when you would realize you fancy her," George said nodding.

"Poor dear," Fred said shaking his head.

"Been crying her eyes out for a while now," George said clicking his tongue.

"Really?" Oliver stammered.

"Do you fancy her?" Fred said with a large, sly grin.

"I-I-" He turned red. "Yeah," he murmured quietly. Fred and George exchanged grins from across Oliver's shoulders.

"Aw, Oliver. Have you come to proclaim your love for her?" Fred said.

"Do you need to buy one of our love potions?" George added.

"_No_!" Oliver said irritated. "I do not need--"

"Well, do you need help finding Katie?" George asked kindly.

"It's Wednesday, isn't it, George?" Fred asked his twin, who nodded. "She'd be at the Three Broomsticks with Madam Rosmerta."

Oliver's eyes widened. "_Oh_! She did tell me that," he said trying to disentangle himself from the twins. "It's nice seeing you, but I guess I'll be off--"

"We're going with you," the twins said in unison.

"_Great_."

It was, indeed, great. They arrived outside of the pub, standing in the streets of the darkening Hogsmeade as Fred and George dug a comb through his hair and sprayed him with some strong cologne. He choked as George stuffed the bottle back into his pocket with a large grin. "And of course, flowers," Fred said conjuring up a bouquet of bright, red roses. He shoved them in Oliver's hand. "And a speech, of course."

Oliver was irritated. "I'm _not _proposing to her or anything--"

"Go get her!" Fred interrupted him, pushing him into the door. He smashed into the door, his head throbbing painfully.

"Fred, you have to open the door first!" George chided his twin as his hand pressed against the door and pushed it open. They pushed him into the pub, earning a few curious looks from the patrons. He caught a head of dark waves sitting at the bar with Madam Rosmerta, chattering incessantly with Katie. The woman suddenly nudged Katie, pointing at him. She turned around, staring at him with large eyes. She smiled and waved.

"Go on, prat!" Fred hissed into his ear, pushing him forward. He stumbled toward the bar, the roses crushed underneath his arm.

"Hi, Katie," he said his cheeks burning.

"Hi, Oliver," she said with a large grin. "What brings you here?" Her tone was innocent, but she exchanged a knowing look with a giggling Madam Rosmerta.

"Here," Oliver said shoving the roses into her hands. She smiled.

"Thanks," she said sniffing the roses. "_Arggh_!"

"_Katie_!" Oliver darted forward. She was doused in a sticky substance, her fuchsia robes dripping and the _Daily Prophet _pin no longer gleaming.

"It…it…" She wiped it from her face. Oliver whirled around, glaring at the chuckling twins.

"_You_!"

"New product," Fred said with a grin. "Had to try it out, Ollie. No hard feelings, Katie," he added to the dripping Katie.

"Fred," she growled irritably. "Scourgify," she murmured to herself, the slime disappearing from her robes and face. She looked as pretty as ever.

"Sorry, Katie," Oliver said his face glowing.

"Well, it was a nice gesture," Katie said, coughing slightly. "What is that _smell_?" She leaned over and sniffed Oliver.

"It's really…strong," she said wafting away the smell. Oliver coughed.

"It was _them_," he said venomously, turning to the twins. They smiled innocently.

"So, what'd you come here to tell me?" Katie said leaning backward from Oliver considerably, sipping her butterbeer.

"I-I…" He felt suddenly warm with all the eyes watching him. "I just wanted to tell you that…I think…I think I fancy you." He gulped. "And without sounding too terribly cheesy, you really…you're everything I expected in a woman. You like Quidditch, you don't call yourself Katie Wood ("Not yet," Fred muttered in George's ear behind him)…you don't pour tea on me. You kissed me on the cheek…and my cheek wouldn't stop tingling." He cleared his throat, his face quite red.

"I like you, Katie Bell," he concluded finally. "And I'd like to…date you, if that's alright." He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, his eyes staring earnestly into Katie's impassive face.

"Well, if that's the best you can do," Fred huffed. Oliver smacked him.

"Oh, and I'm sorry I've been a git," Oliver continued. "And that you've cried over me." A puzzled look crossed Katie's face.

"Cried?"

"That's what…they told me," Oliver said realizing the twins had lied. "Gits," he snapped at them.

"Well, Oliver," Katie said. He turned back to her. "Jonathan would be happy. He's been waiting for the day when you stopped this quest of yours…so--yes."

His heart soared; he felt like he had just won a Quidditch game. He wanted to scream and yell, but he contained his excitement with a large grin. And suddenly, he realized his life was completed. The restless feeling lingering in his mind faded away as he beamed down at Katie Bell.

"I would kiss you, Oliver," Katie said apologetically. "But your cologne smells _awful_." Fred and George snorted.

**A/N: That's the end! The wonderful, wonderful end. Was it dumb? Unsatisfying? Disappointing? I'm sorry, I didn't have any other wonderful ideas! Tell me if it was rather disappointing. There will be an epilogue after this so it really isn't the end…**

**Thanks to all my faithful and lovely reviewers! I love you all. **

Thanks to Ande Lawerence (I didn't thank you before because you reviewed for Chapter Two so I left you out. Sorry! I love your story and I love oversized sunglasses too!) **, Ashley, Meshugenah **(Now you know what all happened. Hope it is satisfying and not disappointing. Joscelind doesn't like Oliver. Hehe. She's like his older, wise sister), **readswim04, MoonShine Fairy, Ghostwriter626 **(if you don't remember from Chapter One, which you probably don't cause I barely remember myself, the witch saw him then and asked for his autograph), **Celi **(cute and stupid, a good combo hehe), **sweet-sternchen **(yeah, that fan and closet thing was really a spur of the moment thing), **TooSweet4Words **(yup, came to his senses alright!), **The Marauders and Lily**, **amazoness **(I was just waiting for that regal pose to write this! Hehe), **MiSs WeStHoFf HeRsElF **(I would be too. Closets? Two men? Luckily, that fan was an idiot), **Lady Arre **(thanks for both reviews for Chapter Five and Six! Glad I made you laugh. Hehe. I love closets for talking), **imakeeper**, **and xprettyoux**. ****

There will be an epilogue! Stay tuned my lovelies! Tell me if this chapter was horrible, honestly. Give me your opinions and praise (or insults)!


	8. Chapter 8

**I decided to just go on with the epilogue. Read full A/N at the end. **

**Oliver Oblivious **

_**Oliver reevaluates his life to find that something's missing. On his quest for the perfect girl, he keeps bumping into Katie Bell. If only oblivious Oliver Wood would know that what he was searching for was right under his nose. **_

_Epilogue_

_**Oliver Wood is Forgiven for Affairs! **_

_By: Samara Gulch _

_Some of you may recognize his vivacious passion for Quidditch and his lovely smile worthy of our Most Charming Smile award. Or faithful readers may have recognized him from the front cover of our _Witch Weekly _weeks ago. Then, handsome Oliver Wood smiled sweetly and informed us that he was, indeed, single. However, since our interview, Wood turned a new leaf. Unbeknownst to us, he already had a girlfriend, Katie Bell. A friend says, "He didn't want anybody to know about them…but they'd been dating for a while." Katie Bell is familiar to the world of our wizarding media; she writes for the _Daily Prophet_. Pretty and young, she manages to reveal her naiveté by remaining oblivious to the several, tawdry affairs Wood was having with many different, unsuspecting women. _

_"I didn't know he had a girlfriend!" one of the witches, who wishes to remain anonymous, tells me tearfully. "I spent a week sobbing my heart out. He ripped my heart out." Now imagine the multitude of pain and betrayal Katie feels. However, instead of breaking it off with Wood, I spotted them in Diagon Alley together, happy as ever. _

_"He's serious about her now. He apologized, and she forgave him. He was just confused," a friend says. (cont. pg 8). _

Claudia Hollingberry frowned deeply at the magazine clutched in her delicately manicured fingers. "That's _him_," she muttered to herself, a vicious scowl passing across her pretty face. She remembered the humiliation she felt as she slunk down in her seat after he yelled at her in the café. She could almost hear his words ringing in her ear, "Quidditch is _not _mediocre!"

She was glad she was not associated with him; however, she had much pity on the girl dating him. She glared down at his picture, his teeth bared in a grin and his arm slung around the waist of a small, pretty witch. She picked up her relatively new quill and began scratching at his face viciously as Oliver tried to hide behind the frame from the quill's tip. A stab of vindictive pleasure coursed through her as she beamed down at her creation. The ink had marred his white teeth into rotting, black teeth and a large, bushy goatee obscured his chin. His brows were a thick, black line over his eyes. Horrified at his makeover, Oliver hid behind the frame of the picture, refusing to come back into view.

"That'll teach you not to put your elbows on the table while you're _eating_!" she snarled down to the picture, slamming the magazine down on the floor of her flat in London.

West of London, in a flat in Gloucester, Sarah Jenkins sobbed heavily over a steaming cup of tea as she tearfully blinked down at the pink magazine with a mixture of disgust and sorrow. "He was supposed to be my _husband_!" she howled to her brother, her tears profusely leaking down her raw cheeks. Her stained, blue Puddlemere United shirt hung loosely on her thin frame. She glowered at the magazine and slammed it on the table. "_You _were supposed to be his brother-in-law!" she wailed.

Her brother patted her arm sympathetically, glaring down at the magazine. He had already shed his Puddlemere United sweatshirt he wore earlier, now a blue heap on the floor. "I was going to be S-Sarah W-Wood!" She gave a screech, her tears dripping down her slightly, off-kilter nose. "We were going to be famous! THAT _ASS_!" In her fury, she picked up the magazine and hurled it across the room, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as the pink magazine flew out the open window. Then she burst out into another sob. "Damn it! There was an article on how to tame frizzy hair! I wanted to read it!" she howled through sobs, her chest heaving. "I was going to marry _him_!"

Sophia Flume tapped her fingers on the counter, a satisfied smile crossing her lips. "To think, Dad, I actually thought he was cute," she called to her father in the backroom, who was struggling with several boxes of Chocolate Frogs. She glanced up at the herd of Hogwarts students seeking refuge from the cold, their faces skinned raw and their eyes lighting up at the display of candies in the shop.

"I'm glad I poured tea on him. That little ass," she muttered underneath her breath. "I can't believe she's still with him!" She closed the magazine shut, slipping it underneath the counter as a boy approached her with his hands full of Chocolate Frogs and Peppermint Toads. She counted the sweets in a bored fashion. "That'll be ten Sickles," she informed him, watching the boy dump the contents of his pouch on the counter. Her lip curled at the sight of the Puddlemere United badge pinned on the front of the boy's robes. "You _support _them?" she snapped. "In that case, an extra Sickle."

The boy stared at her incredulously, but slid another coin across the counter.

A spark of jealousy ran through Prudence Wilson. She knew she was the bigger person; she admitted he looked rather happy with Katie. But somewhere in her conscience, she was jealous and angry. As she sipped her tea carefully, she felt a strange urge to rip the magazine into shreds. "Well, he looks like he's in love with her. He barely looked at me that night," she reasoned to herself. "Besides, he's not that cute." Slightly satisfied, she smiled to herself and flipped through the magazine to learn how to tame frizzy hair.

Twinky clipped the recipes from the back of the magazine, laying them out carefully on the glossy, kitchen table with her long, spindly fingers. As she flipped through the magazines for more recipes, she paused a picture of her master. A smile crossed her face as she bent over the picture, the point of her nose brushing slightly against the magazine. Her master bent his head back in the picture, laughing, his arm slung around Ms. Bell. She liked Ms. Bell; the young witch kindly bought Twinky a new, linen tea cozy. She gratefully accepted it, draping it around her body and giving Ms. Bell an extra biscuit and liberal amounts of tea. Twinky noted her master was happier around Ms. Bell, often talking to her for hours in the kitchen, their tea untouched and cold.

Her large ears perked at the shriek of laughter from the sitting room. She smiled to herself, creeping toward the room. Her master was sprawled out across the sofa, his fingers deftly tickling Ms. Bell's ribs. She shrieked with laughter, fighting off her master with a particularly, large pillow. Twinky was happy to see a large smile on her master's face; he was happier than when he won his Quidditch matches. With a small sigh, she trotted back to her work and began cleaning up the kitchen table, tucking the recipes neatly into the drawer with the other, yellowing recipes.

Oliver fought away the blows of the pillow, his grin refusing to slide off his face. For days, the grin remained intact on his face, even throughout Quidditch practice. He felt his mind wandering during the practices, something that never happened usually as Gimpsky was quick to point out. He fell off the sofa, crashing on the floor, the floor shuddering. She shrieked, lowering the pillow to stare down at him with her flushed face and her big, dark eyes. "Are you okay?" she said her eyes widening. "I really didn't mean to--_WOOD_!" He had grabbed onto her arm and dragged her down on the floor. She landed heavily on his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Gasping, he stared up into her astonished face.

"You're pretty," he told her honestly.

"Shut it, you berk," she laughed, though her face looked rather pleased. He could count the discreet freckles dotted on her right cheek, and he smiled at her dimples as she beamed widely down at him.

"Can I kiss you?" he said. "Can we snog in a broom closet or something?"

Katie snorted. "Yeah…like I'd want to snog you," she said teasingly.

"Then, why are you on top of me?" he said waggling his brows.

"Because you pulled me on top of you," she said leaning her face closer to his, planting a kiss on his nose. He felt his skin tingle as she kissed the corner of his lips teasingly. Finally, she planted a kiss on his lips. At this, he placed a hand on the back of her head, deepening the kiss. She relented.

Suddenly, she pulled away. "I said no snogging today, Mr. Wood," she said with a devilish grin, climbing off him. She ran out the sitting room, her bare feet padding across the cold marble.

"_BELL!_" Oliver yelled, running after her, nearly tripping on a book. Her shrieks and his laughter filled the house as they ran around like children. Their laughter faded when Oliver discovered her hiding in a closet, which he promptly took as a hint and began snogging her.

In his messy flat, Jonathan Gimpsky laughed uproariously with the two Weasley twins. "I'm so glad I met you," he said wiping away his tears of mirth. "Wood will be sorry the day he introduced us." The three, eerily, wore identical, manic grins on their faces.

**A/N: That's the end. Did I wrap up things nicely? I decided to leave it as it was because I really didn't feel like revamping and such. I figured it was fine; I'm sorry if that chapter disappointed you. You can imagine something else happened if you wish. So I just hope you were satisfied with this epilogue. **

**Thank you to all my reviewers who loved my story and those who told me the brutal truth and gave me constructive criticism! I appreciated it. I love you all.**

**I think, after this, I will work on aLily/James story for anyone willing to read it. I'm not sure if it will become an actual story yet but I do have the title and basic summary worked out. Take a look and see if you'd like it. **

**Preview of ****There's a moral lesson behind this. **

Summary: The object of his desires, Lily Evans, is dating a berk, Bertram Aubrey. Wearing his how-can-I-win-Evans face (not to be mistaken as his constipated face), he tries to find out what Aubrey has that he doesn't to win over Lily once and for all. The moral lesson: be yourself or Sirius Black's ideas will kill you.


	9. THANKS EVERYONE

A/N: I forgot to thank you individually for your reviews. I hope you tell me whether or not you liked my epilogue! And I'm sorry to those who wanted me to rewrite.

**Ara7 - Sorry, it was less than gratifying and that you wanted me to change it, but I really hope the epilogue was good and satisfying…? Maybe? **

**Meshugenah - Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. **

**readswim04 - Yes, well, I hope the epilogue was good! They didn't focus on smell. I meant that to be humorous. But that did snog in the end.**

**Hey There Delilah - Thank you! It's okay, you didn't sound like an old fart. I was just unhappy with it myself, but not that much anymore. Part of it is because of what you said. I'm just writing for my own enjoyment. I don't really need to be quite a perfectionist with the story…Thanks! **

**zoechandler - Haha. Thanks! You go ahead and reread it at 3 AM. Haha.**

**Lady Arre - Thanks. You weren't being horrible. Just truthful and honest. I asked for it, right? Just give it to me. I hope you're satisfied with the epilogue. But thanks for all those compliments! **

**Kaedwen - Thank you! I tried not to make it too fluffy but I did add some fluff in the end…**

**TooSweet4Words - Haha, definitely came to his senses. Thanks!**

**The Marauders and Lily - They did snog in the end! I love Gred and Forge though. **

**  
sweetblonde14 - Thanks to you, I got the idea to include the girls in the epilogue! So thanks. Haha. And they did kiss!**

**imakeeper - yeah, tried to make it funny. Thanks! **

**Ghostwriter626 - Thank you! Hope you like the epilogue. **

**xprettyoux - I love the twins. Glad it was funny! Thanks!**

**L-Ae-D - Yeah, I did make Prudence a little jealous in the end. Thanks!**

**Niccola - I did add a little romance, but no flying and Quidditch games. I hope you liked it in the end!**

**MoonShine Fairy - Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked it all in all!**

**livetoeat06 - Thank you so much! I meant for it to be a mixture of fate throwing Katie into him and a little bit of Gimpsky's scheming in the end. And I'm glad you liked the twins in the end! Thanks.**

**Ok, well…the end of this story! Bye! Tell me your opinions on the epilogue! **

**Love you guys! **


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